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ELEANOR, 
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[See  page  101 
I ■'      riNG  SX9  ELBOWS  ON  THE  HEARTH,  HE  READ  FROM  THE  BIBLE 


JOHNNY 
APPLESEED 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  SOWER 
BY 

Eleanor  Atkinson 

AUTHOR  OF 

Greyfriars   Bobby 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

FRANK   T.   MERRILL 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Published    by  Arrangement  with  Harper    &  Brothers 


COPYRIGHT.    1915.    BY    HARPER    &     BROTHERS 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AMERICA 
PUBLISHED     MARCH.    1915 

F-Q 


TO 
THE     AMERICAN     PIONEERS 


NI22123 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  The  Frontier  Orchard i 

II.  The  Wilderness  Trail 24 

III.  Good  Samaritans 49 

IV.  The  Queen  of  the  Fairy  Island 75 

V.  On  "The  Bloody  Way" 97 

VI.  A  Vision  of  Romance 120 

VII.  The  Home  on  the  Indian  Border 146 

VIII.  Tragedy 172 

IX.  The  Savior  of  the  Refugees 198 

X.  Fresh  Fields 224 

XI.  The  Winter  of  the  Deep  Snow 257 

XII.  Undying  Love 284 

XIII.  The  Shining  Goal 312 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Resting  His  Elbows  on  the  Hearth,  He  Read 

FROM   THE   BIBLE Frontispiece 

"How  Long  Must  We  Wait  for  Our  Orchard?"      page       10 

She  Held  up  the  Little  Bag  of  Seeds,  to  Show 

that  She  Still  had  It  Safe "        2 1 

"Courage,  Comrade!"     But  the  Dazed  Savage 

Tried  to  Draw  His  Knife "        43 

Rear  View  of  Blennerhasset  House  ....        "        81 

Mrs.    Blennerhasset    in    Flaming    Habit    and 

Plumed  Hat  of  White  Beaver "        85 

Johnny   Sagged   Forward   on   the   Pony   upon 

which  the  Indian  Set  Him "       113 

"It's  Johnny  Appleseed  Moon" "       149 

He   Blewt  Blasts  from  a   Sawed-off   Powder- 

Horn  that  Could  be  Heard  a  Mile      ...        "       193 

"Thought  It  Was  Them  Pesky  Redskins,  Strang- 
er.    Air  You  that  Appleseed  Missioner?"        "      243 

He  Leaped  to  Get  His  Hat  over  the  Faithful 

Animal's  Eyes "      253 

On  These  Ski-like  Snow-shoes  He  Sped  over 

the  Shore  Ice "      277 

Swept  His  Halo  of  Silver  Hair  Back  from  His 
Face,  and,  Like  any  Prophet  of  Old,  De- 
livered His  Burning  Message "      323 

His  Eyes  Still  had  that  Undying  Look  of  His 
Far-away  Youth,  as  of  One  Who  Sees  only 
the  Distant  and  Splendid  Goal    ....        "      337 


FOREWORD 


PPLE-BLOSSOMS  that  gladdened  the 
hearts,  and  fruits  that  brought  comfort 
and  pleasure  to  the  rude  firesides  of 
the  earliest  settlers  in  the  Middle  West, 
were  the  living  memorials  of  an  apostle 
of  beauty,  peace  and  social  service  who 
is  now  almost  forgotten. 
Explorer,  missionary,  fur-trader  and  conqueror  pre- 
ceded Jonathan  Chapman,  the  nurseryman  of  Puritan 
breed,  whose  identity  was  lost  in  the  devoted  il  Johnny 
Appleseed."  His  day  was  that  of  the  pioneers  who 
crossed  the  Alleghany  Mountains;  of  the  river  boatmen 
who  navigated  the  uncharted  waterways  of  the  old  North- 
west Territory,  and  of  the  Indian-fighters  of  the  last  border 
wars.  All  of  these  played  their  honorable  parts  in  the 
winning  of  an  empire  of  forest  and  prairie.  But  no  one 
of  them  labored  with  greater  courage,  over  such  a  large 
region  of  country,  or  toiled  with  the  unselfishness  and  un- 
tiring zeal  of  this  heroic  orchardist.  Half  mystic,  half 
poet,  a  lover  of  nature  and  of  his  fellow-men,  his  long  life 
of  solitary  and  perilous  wandering,  always  in  the  van 


FOREWORD 

of  migration,  was  consecrated  to  the  blossoming  of  the 
wilderness. 

Three-quarters  of  a  century  ago  he  was  still  a  loved  and 
revered  guest  in  the  cabins  of  our  grandfathers.  His  or- 
chards lived  after  him.  Some  of  his  trees  may  be  standing 
to-day;  but  the  man  who  planted  them  has  receded  to  a  dim, 
legendary  figure.  Let  us  recover  what  may  be  known  of 
him,  restore  him  to  his  time  and  place,  recall  the  al- 
most incredible  conditions  under  which  he  did  his  in- 
spired task.  Let  us  give  him  again  his  meed  of  love  and 
gratitude  for  a  beautiful  life  of  self-sacrifice  that  asked 
no  reward,  and  that  came,  in  old  age,  to  some  end  ob- 
scure and  lonely. 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 


THE   FRONTIER   ORCHARD 


l||||nOHNNY  had  known  the  night 
before  that  warm  showers  would 
bring  out  a  rosy  foam  of  apple- 
blossoms,  so  all  through  the  soft 
spring  darkness  he  had  slept  on 
the  bench  in  the  sapling  stoop 
that  shaded  his  cabin  door,  where  he  would 
awake  to  the  incense  from  the  orchard.  That 
surf  of  bloom,  tossing  in  the  wind  of  dawn 
and  scattering  a  scented  spray  of  raindrops, 
was  the  first  thing  his  eyes  rested  upon.  But 
he  was  aroused,  as  was  every  one  in  the  fron- 
tier town  of  Pittsburg  on  that  April  morning 
in  the  last  year  of  the  eighteenth  century,  by 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

the  blowing  of  bugles  from  boat-yards,  land- 
ings and  ferries  along  the  water-front. 

The  rivers  had  risen  in  the  night.  In  the 
days  before  weather-reports  snow  melted  on 
the  mountains  unnoted,  and  floods  fell  un- 
prophesied  down  the  valleys  of  the  Allegheny 
and  Monongahela.  If  both  streams  rose  at 
once,  at  a  time  when  the  tide  of  westward 
migration  was  at  its  height,  the  bugles  blew 
for  the  men  ox  the  town  to  be  up  and  stirring. 
There  was  a  procession  of  emigrants  to  be  fer- 
ried across  to  Ohio,  and  river  craft,  that  had 
lain  stranded  in  back-water  since  the  going 
down  of  the  last  freshet,  to  be  swiftly  loaded 
and  set  adrift. 

All  this  bustle  of  arrival  and  departure 
would  bring  a  rush  of  business  to  every  ware- 
house, outfitting  store  and  craft-shop  along 
the  terraced  and  gullied  banks.  Therefore, 
at  the  blare  of  the  bugles,  the  log-and-plank- 
built  town  of  fifteen  hundred  people,  that  was 
wedged  in  the  muddy  fork  of  the  swollen 
streams,  swarmed  like  an  untidy  ant-hill. 
And  up  on  the  wooded  slopes  to  the  east, 
men  who  had  been  delayed  by  low  water  ran 
out  of  camps  and  back  again,  seeing  the 
need  of  haste  in  getting  their  families,  ani- 


THE    FRONTIER   ORCHARD 

mals  and  goods  down  to  the  boat  and  ferry- 
landings. 

To  Jonathan  Chapman,  orchardist,  these 
matters  were  of  small  concern.  He  was,  pos- 
sibly, the  only  man  living  in  Pittsburg  who 
would  not  be  counting  his  gains  at  the  end  of 
the  day,  although  no  other  had  such  attrac- 
tive wares  to  offer  as  he.  But  he  could  not 
honestly  sell  young  apple-trees  that  would  die 
on  the  long,  slow  journeys  into  the  wilderness 
of  the  Northwest  Territory,  so  he  was  obliged 
to  discourage  men  from  buying.  Neverthe- 
less he  would  have  as  busy  a  day  as  any,  just 
in  being  a  little  brother  to  wayfaring  man  and 
beast. 

His  nursery  and  orchard  lay  on  the  main- 
traveled  road,  on  the  brow  of  Grant's  Hill,  the 
very  first  bit  of  rising  ground  eastward  of  the 
town.  From  that  green  and  flowery  slope  the 
ancient  woods  had  long  since  retreated,  so 
from  rude  doorways  below,  from  forest  camps 
above,  and  from  boats  on  the  flanking,  bluff- 
bordered  streams  Johnny's  blossoming  trees 
were  visible  that  morning  as  a  drift  of  dawn. 
To  the  nearer  view  of  passers-by  the  nursery- 
man and  his  orchard  offered  a  moment  of  rest 
and  refreshment  from  the  feverish  activities 

3 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

of  the  day.  Every  traveler  stopped  at  his 
gate,  for  in  a  never-failing  spring  that  bubbled 
up,  cold  and  clear,  in  a  cobble-lined  basin  by 
the  roadside,  Johnny  had  "next  water"  in  and 
out  of  Pittsburg. 

People  who  lived  in  the  region  cheerfully 
went  a  mile  out  of  their  way  to  water  their 
animals  at  that  famous  spring  and  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  passing  the  time  of  day  with 
Johnny.  Incoming  horses  found  that  mossy 
fountain  with  their  noses  as  soon  as  they 
broke  through  the  forest  wall. 

The  first  team  of  the  morning's  procession 
came  down  the  steep  road  on  the  run;  and 
when  the  horses  stopped  of  their  own  accord, 
with  mouths  plunged  deep  in  the  pool,  two 
people  looked  out  of  the  clumsy  covered 
wagon  in  delighted  surprise.  To  travelers 
who  had  seen  nothing  for  two  hundred  miles 
except  mountains,  forests,  brawling  streams, 
and  now  and  then  a  God-forgotten  cabin,  the 
squalid  town  below  seemed  incredibly  big  and 
friendly  and  reassuring.  But  that  was  a  day 
of  fierce  independence  and  land-hunger,  when 
it  was  the  dream  of  men  to  hew  out  homes  in 
the  Western  wilds.  Pittsburg  was  but  the 
Gateway  to  the  West,  a  place  to  be  gone 

4 


THE    FRONTIER   ORCHARD 

through  and  left  behind.  This  young  home- 
seeker  gave  but  one  glance  to  the  town  and 
then  turned  back  to  the  dream-come-true  of 
Johnny's  orchard.  It  was  a  heartening  thing 
to  find  it  there,  fronting  the  unbroken  woods 
and  unbridled  flood. 

"If  this  don't  look  for  all  the  world  like  a 
farm  in  Little  Old  Rhody!" 

The  still  younger,  homesick  wife,  scared 
white  and  thin  by  weeks  of  wild  travel,  cried, 
"O-o-oh!"  clutched  her  husband's  arm,  swal- 
lowed hard,  and  stared  as  at  a  vision.  It  was 
a  home  of  long  security,  of  peace  and  beauty, 
such  as  she  had  not  hoped  ever  to  see  again. 
Indeed,  the  orchards  of  grudging  New  Eng- 
land made  no  such  growth  or  lavish  promises 
as  this  that  bowered  Johnny's  little  gray-and- 
brown  nest  of  a  mill-slab  cabin.  And  no- 
where in  the  East  was  to  be  seen  such  a  vast 
apple-tree,  like  a  forest  oak,  as  flung  its  blos- 
somy  banners  out  over  picket  fence,  pool 
and  roadway. 

Before  the  horses  had  finished  drinking 
Johnny  came  whistling  down  the  path.  He 
was  extraordinarily  happy  because  he  had  so 
much  to  share.  There  were  seasons  when  he 
had  nothing  besides  cold  water  and  a  friendly 

5 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

word.  But  this  morning  he  had  a  heap  of 
wrinkled,  winey  apples,  brought  up  from 
winter  pits,  at  the  gate,  and  his  orchard  was  a 
thing  of  breathless  beauty  to  delight  the  eyes 
of  all  comers. 

A  slenderly  built  and  beardless  young  man 
of  twenty-four,  in  the  rough  garb  of  the 
frontier,  Johnny  was  in  no  way  remarkable 
except  for  gentleness  of  speech  and  manners, 
and  for  sympathetic  understanding  of  other 
people's  difficulties.  There  was  tribute  to  the 
courage  of  these  pilgrims  in  the  way  he  lifted 
his  hat  of  felted  rabbit  fur,  and  offered  help 
in  his  hand-clasp.  He  had  bought  this  place, 
which  dated  from  the  days  of  old  Fort  Pitt, 
at  the  close  of  the  Indian  War  five  years 
before;  and  the  stream  of  migration  that  had 
flowed  by  his  gate  to  enter  upon  a  long  strug- 
gle in  Ohio  was,  to  him,  an  inspiring  but 
poignant  thing. 

Now  a  youth  who  has  his  feet  set  in  some 
safe  and  pleasant  way  of  living  must  needs  be 
looking  for  the  dear  other-self  to  share  it. 
And  where  was  Johnny  to  look,  in  that  day 
when  romance  set  sail  from  all  Eastern  ports 
and  voyaged  westward,  if  not  in  these  canvas- 
spread  ships  of  the  mountains?     But  if  he 

6 


THE    FRONTIER    ORCHARD 

glanced  first  into  the  Conestoga  wagon,  with 
eyes  unconsciously  eager,  he  was,  in  the  next 
instant,  offering  the  best  of  the  withered  fruit 
and  breaking  a  spray  from  the  great  tree. 

"For  me!"  stammered  the  young  woman. 
"You  are  robbing  yourself  of  the  harvest." 

"It  is  a  wild  tree;  my  big  bouquet.  The 
French  officers  at  old  Fort  Duquesne  brought 
comforts  from  Canada,  and  they  had  gay 
picnics  on  this  hillside.  The  tree  must  have 
grown  from  an  apple-core  that  was  thrown 
away.  The  fruit  is  as  tough  and  bitter  as  a 
crab-apple  of  the  woods,  but  the  blossoms 
have  a  deeper  color  and  richer  fragrance  than 
those  of  the  tame  trees." 

They  all  looked  up  through  the  branches 
that  were  flung  in  rugged  and  pink  profu- 
sion against  the  sky.  And  neither  the  half- 
century-old  tree,  nor  the  orchard  that  was 
planted  when  the  victory  at  Yorktown  was 
still  good  news,  looked  to  be  more  securely  or 
joyously  rooted  in  that  soil  than  did  Johnny. 
The  woman  saw  that,  and  something  wistful 
in  her  face  made  the  man  grip  her  hand  and 
speak  with  bluff  tenderness : 

"We'll  have  a  place  in  Ohio  like  this,  one 
of  these  days,  little  woman," 

2  7 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"Oh,  let's  have  it  now!"  she  cried.  She 
was  so  young,  and  life  so  long.  It  stretched 
before  her,  down  that  broad  vale,  so  wild  and 
lonely. 

Johnny  was  comforting  the  horses  with 
apples,  and  trying  not  to  see  or  hear  a  plea 
that  tugged  at  his  own  heartstrings.  It  was 
unlikely  that  people  of  this  first  generation  in 
the  backwoods  of  Ohio  would  be  able  to  have 
orchards  around  their  stark  and  comfortless 
cabins  in  the  clearings.  So  many  were  going 
out  in  that  vain  belief.  So  many  would  have 
the  hope  kindled  in  their  breasts  this  morning 
by  the  sight  of  his  blossoming  trees.  A  little 
gray  cloud  obscured  the  sun  for  a  moment, 
dimming  the  perfect  blue  and  gold  of  the 
morning. 

Now  and  then  one  of  the  lion-hearted  men 
who  opened  the  iron  trails  to  the  West  had  a 
glimpse  of  what  the  loved  woman  suffered; 
and  when  he  had  it  his  own  resolution  broke 
as  a  tree  cracks  in  the  frost.  This  was  not  the 
first  emigrant  who  had  turned  to  Johnny  and 
asked,  in  a  voice  gone  husky: 

"Is  this  place  for  sale?" 

Johnny  shook  his  head.  The  question  was 
asked  almost  daily.     To  a  man  on  horseback 

8 


THE    FRONTIER    ORCHARD 

he  could  say,  "There  isn't  enough  money  in 
Uncle  Sam's  treasury  to  buy  my  orchard." 
But  to  the  man  in  a  wagon,  with  a  family,  he 
said,  compassionately,  "I  wish  I  could  give 
you  one  just  like  it."  No  one  ever  doubted 
his  sincerity,  or  ever  forgot  the  look  of  broth- 
erly love  from  his  dark -gray,  black -lashed 
eyes  when  he  said  it.  To  the  most  eager 
and  intelligent  he  offered  a  small  buckskin 
bag  of  seeds,  with  the  plea,  "  Won't  you  try 
to  grow  some  apple-trees  for  yourself?" 

This  man  wisely  refused  the  gift.  The 
growing  of  nursery  stock  was  a  business  in 
itself,  and  he  would  have  all  he  could  do  for 
the  next  few  years  to  save  their  souls  alive. 
By  the  time  he  could  care  properly  for  young 
fruit-trees  he  thought  there  would  be  nursery- 
men in  Ohio. 

Again  Johnny  shook  his  head.  "Not  for  a 
generation,  except  perhaps  in  Marietta  and 
Cincinnati.  Really  to  serve  the  pioneers 
scattered  and  lost  in  that  forty  thousand 
square  miles  of  forest,  an  orchardist  would 
have  to  have  the  courage  and  zeal  of  John 
the  Baptist." 

There  was  a  gasping  sigh  from  the  woman. 
She  suddenly  reached  for  the  little  bag  of  seeds 

9 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

and  put  it  in  the  bosom  of  her  homespun 
gown.  They  drove  away  slowly,  but  looking 
back,  as  so  many  did;  and,  as  he  so  often  did, 
Johnny  ran  after  them.  It  would  be  a  weary 
day  on'the  crowded  river-bank.  Wouldn't  the 
young  wife  rather  rest  under  his  trees? 

She  was  over  the  wheel  in  a  moment,  and 
she  never  stopped  running  until  she  stood, 
shining-eyed,  under  that  canopy  of  wondrous 
bloom.  Rustic  benches  and  stools  were  in 
the  orchard  for  expected  guests,  but  for  this 
appealing  visitor  who  had  special  need  of 
ease,  Johnny  went  into  the  house  to  fetch  a 
Franklin  chair.  He  had  bought  it  in  Phila- 
delphia for  the  Puritan  grandmother  who  had 
come  out  with  him  from  Boston.  Now  that 
she  lay  under  a  grassy  mound  in  the  orchard, 
the  chair  had  the  air  of  waiting  for  another 
occupant. 

A  little,  low,  splint-bottomed  rocker,  it  was 
so  lightly  balanced  that  a  breeze  through  an 
opening  door  set  it  in  motion.  Johnny  never 
saw  it  so  without  also  seeing  in  it  a  young  wife 
and  mother.  She  was  surely  coming  to  him, 
as  a  bird  to  its  nest,  perhaps  on  this  very  wave 
of  migration  that  was  now  breaking  over  the 
mountain  wall.     The  fire  was  laid  ready  for 


IO 


TV 


■: 


7-J 


■  -.    ^-  C- 


>."•'..    iLs^i  -*^>>i~ La*P±.     rT^^t'*- 


"how  long  must  we  wait  for  our  orchard?" 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

her  on  the  hearth,  the  house  was  swept,  the 
cellar  stored,  the  spining-wheel  oiled.  For 
her  the  apple-trees  blossomed  and  fruited, 
the  bees  gathered  nectar,  and  a  pure  and 
steady  flame  burned  in  Johnny's  heart. 

He  stopped  the  chair  gently  as  it  rocked 
in  the  breeze,  and  when  he  brought  it  out  his 
visitor's  first  musing  speech  sank  into  his 
thoughts  as  water  sinks  into  the  grateful 
earth : 

"How  happy  a  woman  could  be  here  with 
a  brood  of  little  children."  She  laid  her 
hand  in  the  low  crotch  of  a  sprawling  tree. 
"I  had  one  like  this  to  climb  into  when  I 
was  a  child.  How  long  must  we  wait  for  our 
orchard?" 

"Not  so  many  years  as  in  New  England — 
if  you  have  luck  with  your  seeds.  Don't 
count  upon  that  too  much." 

So  many  things  had  happened  to  trees  that 
he  had  sold  and  seeds  that  he  had  given  away, 
to  disappoint  hopes! 

He  told  her  something  of  the  letters  that  had 
come  back, to  him  from  forest  clearings.  For 
a  moment  of  repulsion  she  leaned  her  head 
against  the  dear  tree,  with  closed  eyes  and 
quivering  lips.     Then  she  looked  up  with  the 


12 


THE    FRONTIER    ORCHARD 

bright  bravery  that  in  pioneer  women  was  one 
of  God's  miracles. 

"  Nothing  must  happen  to  my  seeds.  I 
could  not  bear  it,  because — " 

She  held  up  a  tiny,  unfinished  garment  of 
tow  linen  for  him  to  see.  Men  and  women 
and  children  told  the  secrets  of  their  hearts 
to  Johnny.  She  began  at  once  to  sew,  and 
to  hum  a  lullaby,  as  she  rocked  in  his  little 
chair. 

Another  caravan  was  at  the  gate.  For 
three  hours  Johnny  was  kept  busy  stuffing 
hands  and  pockets  with  apples,  breaking 
sprays  from  the  wild  tree,  swinging  the  gate 
wide  for  those  who  could  stop,  waving  good- 
bys  to  those  who  must  go  on,  and  now  and 
then  offering  the  forlorn  hope  of  a  little  bag 
of  seeds. 

Of  those  who  gathered  under  his  trees  few 
had  anything  more  palatable  to  eat  than  the 
dry  corn  dodgers  and  cold  game  of  the  camp. 
But  Johnny  had  milk  and  honey,  and  he 
built  a  fire  in  his  out-oven  of  brick  and  filled 
it  with  potatoes  and  apples  to  bake  for  the 
noonday  meal. 

It  was  eaten  under  the  trees,  where  birds 
flitted  about  tunefully  and  bees  wandered  in 

13 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

the  labyrinths  of  bloom.  Then  those  chil- 
dren crusaders,  safe  from  all  alarms,  went  to 
sleep  on  the  sun-dappled  clover.  The  women 
had  a  social  afternoon  which,  when  they  had 
lived  long,  marooned  on  islands  of  clearings 
twenty  miles  from  a  neighbor  across  a  sea 
of  trees,  became  historic  in  their  memories. 
With  the  going  down  of  the  sun  these  pathetic 
guests  would  be  gone,  Johnny  reflected,  but 
he  would  be  here  to-morrow  and  the  next 
year,  in  this  safe  little  Eden. 

His  thoughts  often  ran  into  some  such  dis- 
turbing channel.  He  was  glad  to  have  them 
interrupted  now  by  a  farmer  who  hailed  him 
from  the  Allegheny.  Running  down  the 
grassy  terraces  above  the  town,  he  held  the 
nose  of  the  boat  while  the  man  talked. 
Would  Johnny  take  a  note  for  trees  set  out 
in  the  fall?  He  had  meant  to  pay  for  them, 
but  he  had  not  got  enough  money  for  a  boat- 
load of  potatoes  to  buy  a  bushel  of  New 
York  State  salt  for  his  cattle. 

Such  were  the  difficulties  of  transportation 
over  the  mountains,  and  the  scarcity  of  money 
in  Pittsburg,  that  produce  went  begging,  and 
farmers  who  lived  in  rude  abundance  could 
not  pay  their  debts.     Johnny  took  the  note 

14 


THE    FRONTIER    ORCHARD 

of  this  honest  man  to  save  his  pride,  and  put 
it  into  a  wallet  with  a  sheaf  of  other  notes 
that  were  as  little  likely  ever  to  be  paid,  or 
to  be  pressed  for  payment.  He  wrung  the 
man's  hand,  shoved  the  boat  into  the  current, 
and  flung  himself  on  the  sloping  bank,  his 
thoughts  thrust  back  into  the  flood  of  self- 
questioning  by  the  farmer's  last  remark: 

"Men  out  my  way  are  feeding  their  left- 
over apples  to  the  hogs." 

Apples,  too,  were  a  drug  in  the  market  of 
Pittsburg.  Quantities  of  them  were  turned 
into  cider,  fed  to  stock,  or  left  to  rot  on  the 
ground,  while  a  hundred  miles  to  the  west 
they  were  as  unobtainable  as  though  they 
grew  on  another  planet. 

Johnny  turned  and  lay  with  his  face  on  his 
arms.  Because  it  was  unsafe  and  unprofit- 
able for  a  nurseryman  to  venture  to  serve 
the  wilderness,  must  a  generation  of  brave 
men,  wistful  women  and  defrauded  children 
miss  the  comfort  and  beauty  and  fond  mem- 
ories of  orchards? 

The  letters  that  had  come  back  to  him! — 
letters  written  on  wrapping-paper,  on  birch 
bark,  on  the  fly-leaves  of  precious  Bibles  and 
spelling-books;   letters  posted  in  hollow  trees 

15 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

for  hunters,  traders,  and  friendly  Indians  to 
find  and  carry  on;  letters  weeks  on  the  way, 
and  sent  with  the  postage  for  Johnny  to  pay 
out  of  the  always  scanty  supply  of  coins  in 
his  pocket! 

The  people  who  wrote  asked  nothing  more 
of  him;  but,  very  certain  that  he  would  care, 
they  wanted  to  tell  Johnny  of  the  disasters 
that  had  overtaken  his  gifts.  Young  trees 
had  died  or  had  been  swept  away  in  fording 
streams.  Seeds  had  been  lost,  mildewed  by 
damp,  or  planted  in  improper  soils.  Plants 
that  had  sprouted  had  been  killed  by  drought, 
choked  by  weeds,  browsed  by  deer  or  cattle, 
or  burned  by  the  Indians  in  their  annual  firing 
of  underbrush.  How  could  it  be  otherwise 
where  men  must  fell  trees,  raise  cabins,  grub 
stumps,  plow  corn,  fence  out  wild  beasts  and 
hunt  against  famine? 

In  time  the  wilderness  must  give  way  before 
the  souls  of  such  dauntless  men.  But  it  would 
yield  to  nothing  less.  It  rejected  Johnny's 
gifts  of  tender  seeds  and  trees  long  cherished. 
It  would  always  refuse  them  unless — he  gave 
himself  to  their  defense. 

As  clear  as  the  bugles  that  began  to  blow, 
to  announce  that  the  boats  were  going  out, 

16 


THE    FRONTIER    ORCHARD 

Johnny  heard  that  voiceless  call  to  go  and 
plant  orchards  in*  the  wilds.  He  had  no  ties 
or  duties  to  hold  him  here;  no  work  that  a 
man  much  older  than  himself  could  not  do  as 
well. 

But  could  he  give  up  all  the  days  of  his 
youth — his  dream  of  love  and  home?  In  such 
a  lifelong  wandering  he  could  not  have  a 
cabin  and  a  family.  He  must  sow  in  soli- 
tude, and  see  his  harvests  gathered  to  cheer 
the  firesides  of  other  men.  He  could  have 
no  love  but  that  of  mankind,  no  children  be- 
sides the  tender  seeds  of  his  planting.  And  at 
the  end  he  must  come  to  some  death  obscure 
and  lonely. 

He  could  not  do  it. 

Very  certain  of  that  he  got  to  his  feet, 
shaken  by  the  spiritual  struggle.  His  guests 
were  already  in  the  bustle  and  excitement 
of  hurried  departure,  and  there  was  no  time 
for  lingering  good-bys  or  backward  looks. 
Hastily  loading  them  with  fruit  and  blossoms, 
he  helped  the  smallest  children  down  the 
steep  hill  to  the  town. 

There  every  able-bodied  man  was  needed. 
A  string  of  boats  had  come  down  from  yards 
farther  up  the  Monongahela,  and  a  hundred 

17 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

unmanageable  craft  were  all  in  a  tangle  on 
the  current  that  was  running  five  miles  an 
hour.  There  was  a  pandemonium  of  shouts 
and  screams  from  water- washed  decks,  and 
from  the  banks  that  were  crowded  with  spec- 
tators, as  collisions  were  threatened,  boats 
grazed  rocks  or  went  aground  on  mud-bars. 

With  other  men  and  boys  Johnny  raced 
into  the  flood  that  covered  Water  Street,  to 
pull  a  luckless  raft  from  under  the  keel  of  the 
mail-packet.  Lending  a  hand  with  pole  or  oar 
or  rope  to  boats  in  trouble,  he  made  his  way 
along  shore,  scrambling  over  picket  fences  of 
gardens  that  were  under  water.  When  the 
danger  was  past  he  mounted  the  outside 
stairs  to  the  upper  story  of  the  little,  old 
brick  blockhouse  of  Fort  Pitt,  that  still  stood 
on  the  first  bank  above  the  fork  of  the  rivers. 

An  Irish  widow  lived  there  in  the  sixteen- 
foot-square  redoubt  of  Colonel  Boquet,  with 
a  progeny  as  numerous  as  that  of  the  old 
woman  in  the  shoe.  Children  tumbled  up 
and  down  the  muddy  steps;  pigeons  flew  in 
and  out  of  the  powder-burned  loopholes  under 
the  timbered  eaves ;  and  over  the  great  pond 
below,  which  filled  the  approach  to  Du- 
quesne  Way,  thousands  of  wild  ducks  made 

18 


THE    FRONTIER    ORCHARD 

a  deafening  clamor.  But,  next  to  his  orchard 
on  the  hill,  this  was  the  best  lookout  in  the 
town.  Johnny  always  stood  there,  if  he 
could  get  a  foothold  in  the  press,  to  watch 
the  wagons  and  boats  go  out. 

For  miles  the  caravans  could  be  seen  mov- 
ing along  the  northern  bank  of  the  Ohio,  and 
the  fleet  drifting  down  the  flood  in  a  rude 
pageantry  of  migration  that  was  epic  in  its 
proportions  and  daring.  To  the  depths  of 
him  it  stirred  Johnny.  Out  on  that  horizon 
of  brooding  woods  and  uncharted  waters  lay 
the  task  of  the  time,  and  these  were  the  people 
who,  with  any  tool  or  skill,  crude  strength 
or  sheer  courage  they  possessed,  leaped  to  the 
doing  of  it.  There  would  be  small  reward 
for  these  of  the  vanguard,  no  return  in  glory. 
It  had  the  thrill  of  heroic  adventure,  the 
splendor  of  self-sacrifice,  the  tragic  mischances 
of  battle.  Johnny  burned  with  shame  as  he 
remembered  how  he  had  been  counting  the 
cost.  While  the  boats  went  by  he  stood  un- 
covered. 

His  earliest  guests  of  the  morning  passed 
the  fork  with  another  family  on  a  clumsy  flat- 
boat.  The  woman  was  leaning  on  the  board- 
ed-up  stern,  looking  up  to  the  orchard  on  the 

19 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

hillcrest.  When  she  saw  Johnny  she  waved 
a  branch  of  apple-blossoms,  and  held  up  the 
little  bag  of  seeds,  to  show  that  she  still  had 
it  safe.  A  lurch  of  the  raft,  as  it  swung  into 
the  current  of  the  Ohio,  threw  her  off  her 
balance.  The  seeds  were  wrenched  from  her 
hold  and  flung  into  the  flood. 

For  a  long  moment  she  stood  motionless 
and  stared  into  the  swirl  of  turbid  water  in 
the  wake  of  the  boat,  in  frightened  disbelief 
that  they  were  gone.  Johnny,  too,  gazed  at 
the  spot  where  they  went  down,  remember- 
ing what  she  had  said  in  the  morning: 

"  Nothing  must  happen  to  my  seeds.  I 
could  not  bear  it,  because — " 

The  pity  of  it !  All  those  little  promises  of 
beautiful  and  fruitful  years;  all  those  happy 
times  and  memories  for  the  child  unborn, 
drowned  in  the  river's  slime.  For  a  moment 
she  gripped  the  rail  and  smiled  back  at 
Johnny  her  brightest  and  bravest,  as  if  to 
reassure  him  that  she  meant  to  bear  what  she 
could  not.  But  suddenly  she  crumpled  up  on 
the  deck  and  flung  her  arms  out  in  piteous 
appeal. 

It  was  a  prayer !  Countless  backward  looks 
and  letters  were  translated.     For  five  years 

20 


THE    FRONTIER   ORCHARD 

the  wilderness  had  been  flinging  his  futile 
gifts  in  his  face  and  besieging  his  spirit  with 
prayer. 


SHE   HELD    UP   THE    LITTLE    BAG    OF    SEEDS,  TO    SHOW   THAT    SHE 
STILL    HAD   IT    SAFE 


Above  the  noises  on  the  river  he  could  not 
make  her  hear  a  consoling  word  even  if,  in  his 


21 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

confusion,  he  could  find  one  to  say;  but  he 
stood  there  with  bent  head  until  the  sun,  too, 
dropped  into  the  flood  and  the  boats  dis- 
appeared in  the  twilight  behind  the  islands. 

Hill-slope  and  orchard  lay  in  the  radiance 
of  a  high  moon  when  Johnny  went  up  through 
the  town.  As  he  opened  the  cabin  door  the 
silvery  light  filled  the  dear,  familiar  home  and 
the  breeze  set  the  little  chair  into  a  ghostly 
rocking.  A  gust  of  emotion  swept  over  him. 
But  after  a  moment  he  stopped  the  chair,  as 
one  closes  the  eyes  of  the  beloved  dead,  and 
put  it  back  against  the  wall  where  it  could 
rock  no  more. 

All  night  he  lay  on  the  bench  in  the  sap- 
ling stoop,  like  one  of  his  own  trees  uprooted. 
The  birds  sang  their  mating  songs  in  a  dawn 
of  rose  and  pearl.  Then  the  orchard  was  a 
surf  of  bloom  that,  to  Johnny's  enlarged  spir- 
itual vision,  had  a  rarer  loveliness  than  that 
of  color  and  perfume. 

Apple-blossoms  were  the  year's  first  assur- 
ance of  a  fruitful  autumn,  and  men  were  as 
trees  walking.  His  gift  for  planting  and  nur- 
turing, his  poetic  feeling,  his  fellowship  for 
men  and  his  yearning  desire  to  serve  them, 
had  been  nothing  more  than  the  brief  blush 


22 


THE    FRONTIER   ORCHARD 

and  fragrance  of  the  wild  tree  that  ripened 
only  to  a  harvest  of  bitter  disappointment. 

God  helping  him,  he  would  bring  these 
blossoms  of  his  soul  to  the  good  fruits  of  a 
thousand  orchards  in  the  wilderness. 


II 


THE   WILDERNESS   TRAIL 


AD  his  fields  been  in  corn, 
Johnny  could  have  sold  or  aban- 
doned them  and  journeyed  west- 
ward on  the  crest  of  that  ex- 
alted mood.  But  with  a  nursery 
a  man  must  keep  faith  from  sea- 
son to  season,  and  hold  his  plantation  in  trust 
for  the  community  he  serves.  He  could  not 
sell  to  the  first  or  highest  bidder,  but  only 
to  the  man  who  was  best  fitted  to  continue 
his  work  in  Pittsburg.  Then  he  had  to  tarry 
until  autumn  for  the  ripening  of  seeds ;  spend 
the  winter  in  gleaning  them  at  scattered  farm 
cider-mills,  and  delay  his  going  until  the 
frost  was  coming  out  of  the  ground.  But  the 
orchardist  must  know  how  to  wait,  for  other 
sowers  reap  ten  times  before  he  gathers  his 
first  harvest.     Blossom-time  had  almost  come 

24 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

'round  again  before  Johnny  was  off  on  his 
lifelong  mission  in  the  wilderness. 

It  was  not  until  fall  that  he  parted  with  his 
little  Eden  for  a  sum  that  would  barely  out- 
fit him  for  travel — that  would  buy  him  a  good 
horse  and  saddle,  leather  saddle-bags  to  hold 
safe  and  dry  quite  a  bushel  of  apple-seeds, 
a  blanket  and  a  rifle.  Of  food  he  meant  to 
carry  only  a  small  bag  of  meal  and  a  lump 
of  salt.  Gun  and  fishing-tackle  must  sup- 
ply his  needs.  For  the  rest,  he  had  the  light 
hoe,  rake  and  hatchet  that  had  grown  to 
his  hand,  a  coil  of  rope  and  a  hunting-knife. 
Flint  and  steel  for  fire-building  were  in  his 
pouch  with  his  Bible  and  the  small  sum  of 
money  that  he  had  collected  on  his  notes. 

About  money  Johnny  was  in  no  way  con- 
cerned. It  would  be  of  less  use  to  him  than 
courage  and  resource,  and  the  co-operation 
and  faith  of  the  many  people,  both  around 
Pittsburg  and  in  Ohio,  to  whom  he  must  look 
for  help.  Seeds  were  his  first  necessity — 
seeds  in  quantity  limited  only  by  his  ability 
to  gather,  carry  and  plant  them,  and  for  as 
many  years  as  the  West  might  require  to 
grow  its  own  supply. 

The  task  he  had  set  himself  was  appalling, 

25 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

but  the  result  was  assured.  He  had  but  to 
sow  a  hundred  seeds  for  one  to  survive  to  the 
transplanting;  set  out  ten  trees  to  bring  one 
to  the  age  of  bearing,  and  grow  an  uncertain 
number  of  those  to  secure  one  of  value.  Most 
of  his  seedling  trees,  he  knew,  would  revert 
to  their  wild  ancestry.  Only  now  and  then 
would  one  come  true  to  its  variety  or  develop 
some  rare  perfection  of  its  own.  And  budding 
and  grafting  must  long  be  as  impossible  in 
the  backwoods  as  they  were  for  the  Pil- 
grims of  the  Mayflower.  But  it  was  thus 
that,  in  spite  of  stony  ground,  bitter  cli- 
mate and  Indian  wars,  orchards  blushed 
and  fruited  within  a  generation  in  every  col- 
ony of  New  England.  The  West  must  re- 
ward his  devotion  much  more  quickly  and 
generously. 

Since  the  best  investment  he  could  make 
of  his  walletful  of  notes  was  to  put  them 
into  men's  good -will,  Johnny  tucked  them 
under  the  front  logs  of  glowing  fireplaces  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  poor  farmers  who  had 
given  them.  And  to  men  who  protested  that 
they  still  owed  him,  he  said: 

"  You  owe  orchards  to  pioneers  in  the  back- 
woods.    Let  me  collect  the  debt  in  seeds  and 

26 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

in  a  winter  night's  lodging  now  and  then  for 
the  next  twenty  years  or  so." 

With  that  he  went  whistling  to  the  heap  of 
fermenting  or  frozen  pomace  with  an  iron 
soap-kettle  of  warm  water  to  wash  out  the 
seeds.  There,  in  an  open  pole  shack  or  under 
the  bare  trees,  he  worked  in  wind  or  rain, 
snow  or  bitter  cold.  At  nightfall  he  brought 
in  a  small  measure  of  sorted  seed,  for  he  saved 
only  the  brightest  and  plumpest,  and  spread 
them  on  the  chimney-shelf  to  dry. 

One  place  exhausted,  he  shouldered  his  bag 
and  tramped  to  the  next.  Now  and  then  he 
lay  out  among  the  hills  to  harden  himself  to 
danger  and  exposure,  or  in  times  of  spiritual 
stress  to  keep  a  vigil  with  the  stars.  In  that 
first  winter  of  wandering  in  the  sparsely  set- 
tled and  drift -filled  valleys  about  Pittsburg 
he  grew  lean  and  long  of  stride,  and  his  eyes 
took  on  the  look  of  one  who  sees  no  hard  or 
hindering  circumstance,  but  only  the  distant 
and  splendid  goal. 

Except  in  moments  of  excitement,  Johnny 
was  a  man  of  brief  and  diffident  speech.  It 
was  only  by  accident  that  he  fully  revealed 
his  unworldly  and  perilous  scheme  of  life,  and 
won  the  approval  of  more  prudent  friends. 

27 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

In  reading  of  the  miracle  of  the  loaves  and 
fishes  to  an  illiterate  family,  about  a  fire  where 
apples  sputtered  in  a  spicy  row,  he  had  a 
vision  of  his  orchard  multiplied.  Then  his 
dark-gray  eyes  went  black  and  luminous. 
Words  tumbled  out  in  one  of  those  cataracts 
of  eloquence  with  which  he  now  and  then 
swept  away  three  generations  of  men  on  floods 
of  poetic  and  religious  feeling  for  his  self- 
imposed  task.  Until  far  into  the  night  he 
talked  of  his  mission.  God  and  one  man  were 
going  to  bring  about  that  miracle,  and  feed 
the  multitude  in  the  wilderness  with  comfort 
and  beauty. 

At  mill  and  store,  and  wherever  people 
hailed  one  another  on  land  and  water  high- 
way, the  story  was  repeated.  With  surprising 
rapidity  and  accuracy  of  report  it  spread  over 
the  region  and  touched  the  imagination  and  so- 
cial conscience  of  all  manner  of  men.  Here  was 
a  thing  to  which  the  right  thinking  must  lend 
a  hand.  So,  even  before  he  had  started  on 
his  first  journey,  Johnny  had  become  a  matter 
of  public  pride  and  concern,  a  beloved  figure 
about  whom  a  legend  had  begun  to  grow. 

But  there  was  no  one  to  see  him  off,  and  the 
world  was  stripped  to  the  elements  of  bleak 

28 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

weather,  bare  woods  and  leaden  waters,  on 
the  dark  winter  morning  when  Johnny  rode 
down  to  the  ferry  landing  to  meet  the  star- 
route  post-rider.  It  had  been  urged  upon 
him  as  safest  to  cover  the  first  stage  of  the 
journey  with  the  mail-carrier,  who,  in  the  last 
year,  had  been  making  the  round  trip  once 
a  week  to  the  new  settlement  of  a  blacksmith 
shop  and  floating  mill  at  Zanesville.  Thence 
he  could  drop,  from  one  cluster  of  cabins  to 
another,  down  the  Muskingum. 

To  have  the  longest  planting  season  possible 
he  was  obliged  to  go  out  thus,  ahead  of  the 
spring  tide  of  migration,  for  the  red  maple 
often  blossomed  late  in  February  at  Marietta, 
and  the  Judas-tree  in  March.  By  traveling 
fast  and  working  his  way  on  the  flatboats  of 
home-seekers,  and  on  the  freight-pirogues  that 
carried  salt  and  gunpowder  to  the  remotest 
clearings  on  the  larger  tributaries,  he  could 
put  in  seeds  near  most  of  the  white  settle- 
ments in  Ohio.  The  red  tribes  still  held  the 
Northwest  and,  in  winter,  ranged  their  an- 
cient hunting-grounds  in  the  eastern  foot-hills 
within  a  day's  ride  out  of  Pittsburg. 

During  the  summer,  when  no  planting  could 
be  done,  Johnny  meant  to  search  out  scat- 

29 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

tered  clearings  along  the  smaller  waterways 
and  trails  to  the  Indian  border.  In  October 
and  November  he  would  put  in  what  seeds 
he  had  left  along  the  route  of  his  return  for 
a  new  supply.  The  winter  months  he  must 
spend  among  the  cider-mills,  and  late  Feb- 
ruary must  see  him  on  the  wilderness  trail. 
Until  there  were  orchards  in  the  new  West 
he  might  not  see  blossoming  or  fruiting  apple- 
trees  again. 

There  had  been  a  thaw  and  then  a  freeze. 
Gales  had  swept  the  hilltops  bare,  but  snow 
still  lay  in  the  forest  and  in  shrinking  patches 
in  the  hollows.  Once  across  the  Allegheny, 
where  the  ferry  nosed  its  way  through  floating 
ice  and  muddy  slush,  the  rough-shod  horses 
picked  their  way  over  the  iron  ruts  and  around 
the  shivering  pools  of  the  Great  Trail. 

The  cutting  of  this  military  road  through 
a  hundred  miles  of  unbroken  woods,  for  a 
forced  march  of  kilted  Highlanders  to  the 
meadows  of  the  Muskingum,  was  a  wonder 
tale  of  the  breaking  of  the  power  of  Pontiac. 
Unused  for  thirty  years  and  obliterated  by 
new  growth,  it  had  been  reopened,  after 
Wayne's  victory  in  1794,  by  a  peaceful  army 
of  home-seekers  only  five  years  before  Johnny 

30 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

began  his  mission.  It  was  still,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  larger  waterways,  the  only  way 
of  travel  in  the  forests  west  of  Pittsburg  of 
which  eagles  were  aware. 

To  the  mouth  of  Beaver  Creek  it  defiled 
along  the  north  bank  of  the  river.  There 
the  Ohio  dropped  away  to  the  south,  while 
the  road  ran  westward  along  the  watershed. 
Travel  over  it  was  nearly  all  in  one  direction. 
Its  only  purpose  was  to  cleave  a  way  to  the 
first  navigable  stream  in  the  heart  of  a  wil- 
derness that  had  engulfed  forty  thousand 
unreturning  pioneers.  There  were  no  settle- 
ments or  even  isolated  cabins  along  this  road 
that  was  walled  by  wild  flood  and  gigantic 
trees.  No  alien  sound  was  heard  by  the 
travelers  besides  the  occasional  crack  of  the 
red  man's  rifle  in  the  hills. 

All  day  the  horses  scrambled  up  and  down 
the  rough  ridges ;  plunged  into  the  black  mold 
and  dense  thickets  of  tangled  gullies;  stum- 
bled around  splintered  and  root-buttressed 
stumps;  struggled  across  corduroyed  bogs; 
raced  trembling  over  thawing  quicksands, 'and 
splashed  through  creeks  that  foamed  and 
chuckled  under  the  marble-white  arches  of 
leafless  sycamores.     Fording-places  were  un- 

31 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

certain,  for  after  every  freshet  mud-bars 
shifted  up  or  down  stream.  When  one  could 
not  be  found  the  crossing  had  to  be  made 
at  a  riffle,  often  with  a  precipitous  approach, 
where  the  horses  were  in  danger  of  pitching 
their  riders  headlong  or  of  breaking  their  own 
legs. 

At  nightfall  the  travelers  camped  in  one  of 
those  oases  of  the  forest — a  natural  "opening  " 
that  sloped  to  a  creek-bank  and  was  girdled 
by  tall  trees.  The  horses  were  belled  and 
turned  loose  to  feed  on  the  scant  growth  of 
grass  and  buffalo  clover  that  had  sprung  up 
in  the  late  thaw.  Then,  while  the  post-rider 
went  hunting,  Johnny  built  a  fire  of  drift- 
wood and  found  a  dry  cache  for  the  mail  and 
seed  bags  in  a  hollow  tree.  It  was  a  half- 
hour  after  the  report  of  the  gun  before  the 
man  returned  to  camp  with  a  brace  of  venison 
steaks  and  the  freshly  flayed  skin  of  a  buck. 

"You  killed  a  deer  to  make  a  meal  for  two 
men?"  asked  Johnny.  He  was  willing  to 
take  what  life  he  must  to  sustain  his  own, 
but  he  hated  to  see  any  living  thing  de- 
stroyed needlessly,  or  any  useful  thing  wasted. 

The  mail-carrier  laughed  and  slapped  his 
thigh   in   huge    enjoyment.     "Say,   Johnny, 

32 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

didn't  you  know  it  was  a  public  duty  to 
make  game  scarce  along  this  road?  Travel 
will  be  safer  when  them  thieving  redskins 
are  obliged  to  leave  this  neck  of  the  woods. 
Yep,  there'll  be  trouble,  you  bet.  Indians  al- 
ways fight  before  they  move  west."  He  lit  his 
pipe  and  considered  Johnny  with  affectionate 
concern.  "See  here,  Johnny,  you  don't  want 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  them  red  devils." 

Johnny  said  nothing,  but  he  could  not  eat 
of  the  venison.  He  caught  a  fish  in  the  creek 
and  baked  a  hoe-cake.  Long  after  the  other 
man  slept  he  lay  thinking  how  he  and  his 
mission  were  involved  in  the  wrongs  and  hos- 
tilities that  had  imperiled  life  and  work  on 
every  American  frontier.  And  when  he  was 
awakened  in  the  night  by  the  snarling  of 
wolves  over  the  dead  buck,  this  wild  way  over 
which  he  must  journey  year  after  year  be- 
came a  place  of  pitiless  betrayal  of  peaceful 
things  that  asked  only  to  go  about  their 
business  unmolested.  This  year's  leaves  might 
well  drift  over  him,  and  he  and  his  dream  of 
service  to  his  generation  lie  slain  and  for- 
gotten on  the  leaf-mold,  the  ancient  death- 
bed of  the  woods. 

In  the  morning  his  horse  was  gone.     The 

33 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

bell  and  the  shapeless  prints  of  moccasined 
feet  were  found  in  the  wet  moss  of  that  charm- 
ing glade,  where  the  first  venturesome  robin 
hopped  and  chirped  in  the  pale  winter  sun- 
shine. This  was  a  calamity  that  he  had  not 
foreseen. 

The  mail-carrier  was  in  one  of  those  flaming 
rages  of  retaliation  that,  in  white  men  and 
red,  have  started  every  border  war.  "It's 
murder  to  steal  a  man's  horse  in  these  woods. 
If  it  was  mine  I'd  get  it  back  if  I  had  to  fol- 
low the  dirty  thief  to  his  village  at  Sandusky 
or  Piqua  and  fill  his  copper-colored  hide  with 
buckshot." 

"I  have  no  quarrel  with  any  man,"  said 
Johnny. 

"O  Lord!"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in 
disgust.  "The  first  time  you  get  a  shot  from 
behind  a  tree  you'll  change  your  mind  about 
that.  Well,  camp  here.  I'll  be  back  in  four 
days.  We'll  cache  all  the  plunder  but  the 
mail,  and  you  can  ride  double  with  me  to 
Pittsburg  and  get  another  horse." 

Johnny  could  not  consider  this.  "My 
seeds  would  mildew  if  they  were  buried  a  week 
or  so.  And  I  haven't  enough  money  to  buy 
a  horse." 

34 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

"Then  you'll  have  to  wait  for  a  caravan  to 
pick  you  up.  The  first  emigrants  will  be 
along  in  a  couple  of  weeks." 

"I  must  be  in  Marietta  by  that  time. 
Good-by,  and  better  luck  to  you." 

"You  talk  like  a  fool!"  The  man  leaped 
to  the  saddle  angrily,  mounted  to  the  trail, 
and  rode  away.  The  United  States  mail 
could  not  be  delayed;  and  he  reflected  that, 
with  a  horse-load  of  baggage,  Johnny  had  no 
choice  but  to  stay  where  he  was.  But  a  mile 
up  the  road  he  recalled  the  something  in 
Johnny's  look  that  had  alarmed  him,  and 
came  pounding  back. 

"Johnny,  you've  got  to  camp  here.  There 
are  more  Indians  farther  west.  I  didn't  know 
there  was  a  redskin  near  here,  or  I  wouldn't  'a' 
killed  that  buck.     I  done  you  a  bad  turn." 

Johnny  looked  up  at  him  with  a  glow  of 
warm  feeling  as  he  remembered  the  many 
stories  of  this  man's  bravery,  resourcefulness 
and  faithfulness  to  duty.  In  spite  of  storm 
and  flood,  accidents  to  horses,  treachery  of 
Indians  and  encounters  with  wild  animals,  he 
had  always  brought  the  mail-bag  through. 

"Then  you'll  do  me  a  good  turn  and  take 
my   seeds   to   Zanesville.     You   know   Isaac 

35 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Stadden,  the  German  farmer  who  went  out 
from  Pittsburg  last  year.  His  clearing  is  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Licking  River.  Leave  the 
saddle-bags  with  him,  and  tell  him  I  will  be 
there  within  a  week  to  plant  the  first  nursery 
in  the  Northwest  Territory  on  his  farm." 

The  man  went  white.  "Why,  good  Heav- 
ens, Johnny,  this  road  kills  horses!  There  are 
wolf -packs,  and  the  first  band  of  Indians  you 
met  would  strip  you  to  your  shirt  and  lose 
you  in  the  woods." 

"I'll  get  through  somehow.  Good -by!" 
There  was  in  Johnny's  look  the  pale  exalta- 
tion of  the  fanatic  who  is  not  to  be  turned 
from  his  purpose.  He  smiled  and  waved  his 
coonskin  cap  as  long  as  the  slowly  departing 
rider  was  in  view. 

He  had  begun  to  make  a  drag-litter  which 
he  could  pull,  after  the  manner  of  an  Indian 
pony,  and  use  to  raft  his  baggage  across 
streams.  But  now,  lightened  of  his  seeds, 
he  made  up  his  tools,  his  food-pouch  and  his 
blanket  into  a  compact  bundle  with  the  rope. 
Shouldering  his  gun  and  his  pack,  he  climbed 
to  the  trail. 

All  day  he  toiled  up  innumerable  ridges, 
and  then  ran  down,  for  this  foot-hill  country 

36 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

of  the  Alleghanies  was  a  storm-furrowed  and 
petrified  ocean.  The  road  that  labored  up 
to  rocky  crests  and  dropped  into  sodden  wal- 
lows of  troughs,  was  one  upon  which  a  sea- 
soned saddle-horse  could  not  safely  be  driven 
more  than  thirty  miles  a  day.  Indians  crossed 
it  in  many  places,  but  they  never  traveled  on 
it  for  any  distance.  They  followed  the  easier 
grades  of  the  old  north  and  south  hunting- 
trails  that  wound  along  the  bluffs.  Yet  from 
late  dawn  until  early  dusk  Johnny  walked, 
with  brief  pauses  for  rest  on  hilltops.  How 
many  days  he  could  keep  up  this  pace  he  did 
not  permit  himself  to  think.  His  feet  winged 
with  purpose  he  had,  as  yet,  little  sense  of 
fatigue. 

But  he  went  warily,  for  the  way  was  one  of 
pitfalls,  and  to  a  man  alone  and  afoot  the 
difficult  miles  were  ambushed.  In  that  co- 
lossal forest  the  rough-hewn  road  was  but  a 
rift,  a  crevice  between  cliffs  of  trees,  and  fifty 
yards  on  either  side  every  columned  vista 
ended  in  gloom.  The  crack  of  rifles  became 
louder  and  more  frequent.  Stretches  of  soft 
earth  showed  the  tracks  of  animals,  large  and 
small.  The  wayside  was  strewn  with  the 
skulls  and  scattered  bones  of  horses  and  cat- 

37 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

tie  which,  having  strayed  or  been  injured, 
had  been  abandoned  by  hurrying  emigrants. 
There  were  mounds  with  rude  headboards. 
One  had  been  torn  open — a  gash  in  the  soft 
bosom  of  mother  earth.  Johnny  stopped  to 
draw  a  covering  of  soil  into  the  trench  and 
to  say  a  prayer. 

He  was  afraid  of  but  two  things — of  being 
molested  and  delayed  by  man  or  beast,  and 
of  losing  the  trail.  Once  he  slipped  farther 
into  a  thicket  than  he  had  intended  while  a 
band  of  Indian  hunters  went  by  overhead, 
and  in  coming  out  again  he  lost  his  sense  of 
direction.  It  was  a  half -hour  before,  through 
a  maze  of  brush-grown  glens,  he  found  his 
way  back  to  the  road. 

At  night  he  made  his  camp  in  a  little  cave 
on  a  steep  slope  twenty  feet  below  the  trail. 
From  the  quantity  of  small  bones  in  it  and 
the  vile  smell,  it  was  probably  an  old  fox-den. 
He  raked  the  refuse  out,  cut  a  hole  for  the 
escape  of  smoke,  and  sweetened  the  air  with 
fire.  As  noiselessly  as  any  foraging  and  de- 
fenseless animal  he  slipped  about,  catching  a 
fish  in  a  pool  of  the  creek  below,  and  setting 
loop -traps  in  a  rabbit -run.  When  he  had 
eaten  his  supper  he  put  out  the  fire  and  spread 

38 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

his  blanket.  On  either  side  the  entrance, 
which  was  concealed  by  bushes,  he  drove 
stout  stakes  and  wove  his  rope  across.  Then 
he  knotted  a  kerchief  to  the  screen.  As  long 
as  the  faint  moonlight  penetrated  the  leafless 
web  of  the  forest  it  would  flutter  there,  a  pale 
flame  that  would  make  prowling  animals 
pause. 

In  spite  of  the  pain  in  his  bruised  and 
swollen  feet  and  legs,  and  such  cramped  quar- 
ters that  he  could  not  stretch  at  full  length, 
Johnny  fell,  almost  at  once,  into  the  sleep  of 
exhaustion.  It  was  toward  morning,  when 
the  wind  went  down  with  the  moon,  that  he 
woke  with  a  start  in  darkness  and  silence  and 
to  the  fetid  breath  of  a  wolf.  At  the  hissing 
flash  and  acrid  smoke  of  a  little  train  of  gun- 
powder that  he  fired  with  flint  and  steel,  the 
creature  fled,  crashing  through  undergrowth. 
Overhead  a  panther  screamed  and  leaped 
away  across  the  tree-tops. 

Johnny  slept  no  more.  For  that  night  he 
was  safe  enough,  but  a  cave  wras  not  always 
to  be  found.  A  fire  in  the  open  was  a  man's 
natural  home  in  the  woods,  and  a  rifle  his 
defense.  But  the  glow  of  flames  or  the  sound 
of  a  shot  here  might  summon  the  Indians,  and 

4  39 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

them  he  must  avoid  until  opportunity  offered 
to  commend  himself.  Now  and  then  a  white 
man — a  trapper  with  a  wild  strain  in  him,  a 
trader  with  a  finer  sense  of  fair  play,  or  a  mis- 
sionary with  only  the  love  of  God  and  the 
brotherhood  of  man  in  his  heart,  did  make 
his  own  terms  of  peace  with  them.  He  must 
do  that,  be  able  to  join  their  bands  of  hunters 
for  safe  travel,  be  welcome  in  their  camps, 
turn  this  peril  into  a  protection,  or  see  his 
mission  perish. 

Dawn  came  in  as  a  diffused  light,  cold  and 
gray.  After  an  hour  on  the  road  Johnny  was 
obliged  to  take  shelter  in  the  burned-out  hol- 
low of  an  enormous  tree,  while  a  smother  of 
soft  snow  blotted  out  the  world.  The  storm 
died  away  to  a  drizzling  rain  that  veiled  the 
woods  and  mired  the  road.  At  every  step 
his  clogged  feet  slipped.  At  the  bottom  of 
every  ravine  ran  a  swollen  creek  where  he  had 
to  put  his  pack,  his  gun  and  his  clothing  on 
his  head  and  wade  in  icy  water,  sometimes 
plunging  into  sink-holes  up  to  his  shoulders. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  he  came  to  a 
broader  stream  that  poured  down  a  torrent 
of  mud,  melting  snow  and  driftwood.  He 
could  not  swim  it  with  his  baggage,  and  any 

40 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

raft  that  he  could  build  and  man  would  be 
swept  away.  Up-stream  he  scrambled,  along 
steep  and  crumbling  banks,  to  where  the 
channel  narrowed  so  that  the  limbs  of  syca- 
mores were  interlaced  above  a  foaming  riffle. 
Pulling  his  pack  up  into  a  tree,  he  swung  it  at 
the  end  of  the  rope  like  a  pendulum  and  landed 
it  on  the  farther  bank.  Then  he  leaped, 
caught  a  branch  that  broke  under  his  weight, 
fell  ten  feet  to  another,  and  hung  there  until 
he  could  make  his  way  to  the  ground.  Through 
two  miles  of  tangled  bog  he  struggled  back  to 
the  trail. 

In  rounding  a  bend  half-way  up  the  next  long 
slope,  he  almost  ran  into  a  timber- wolf  which 
was  squatted  on  its  haunches  in  the  roadway, 
muzzle  up,  as  if  keeping  some  ghoulish  watch. 
Gaunt  from  a  hard  winter,  it  held  its  ground 
and  showed  its  fangs  when  Johnny  struck  it 
with  a  stone.  He  shot  it  as  it  opened  its  jaws 
to  howl  for  the  pack ;  and  he  raced  up  the  slip- 
pery rise  in  such  haste  to  be  beyond  the  range 
of  the  echoing  report,  that  he  stumbled  over 
an  Indian  who  had  fallen  on  his  face  across 
the  road. 

In  a  moment  he  had  turned  the  brave  on 
his  back,  felt  the  faint  heart-beat,  shook  and 

41 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

shouted  him  into  semi  -  consciousness,  and 
learned  his  first  Shawnese  word  from  the  dry 
lips  that  begged  for  water. 

"Courage,  comrade!"  Johnny  knew  that 
all  Indians  learned  enough  English  to  keep 
from  being  cheated  in  the  fur -trading.  He 
asked  brief  questions  about  this  man's  com- 
panions and  the  location  of  his  camp,  but 
the  dazed  savage  only  stared  in  a  bewildered 
way,  tried  to  draw  his  knife,  and  muttered 
unintelligibly. 

Blood  was  trickling  from  a  gunshot  wound 
in  a  leg.  Johnny  cut  the  soaked  legging  away, 
washed  the  ragged  furrow,  and  made  ban- 
dages of  the  linsey  shirt  that  he  wore  under 
his  buckskins.  Then  he  dragged  the  senseless 
giant  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  bathed  his 
scratched  and  mud-stained  face,  and  covered 
him  with  his  own  blanket.  He  found  no  gun 
near,  and  hastily  loaded  his  own  that  had 
been  discharged. 

Every  consideration  of  prudence  urged  him 
to  run,  not  to  become  involved  in  this  obscure 
tragedy.  No  doubt  this  hunter  would  be 
missed,  and  men  of  his  tribe  might  appear 
at  any  moment.  The  rain  had  ceased  and 
night  was  coming  on,  sharp  and  still.     He 

42 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

stood  on  such    an  elevation,  which  dropped 
away  so  steeply  that  he  could  look  out  over 


"courage,   comrade!"     but    the    dazed   savage   tried   to 

draw  his  knife 

43 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

gray  billows  of  tree-tops  to  purple  banks  of 
sunset. 

There  he  built  a  great  fire — a  beacon  that 
shone  across  the  heaving  ocean  of  woods. 
At  intervals  he  fired  his  rifle  to  guide  the 
searchers.  Making  a  hasty  meal  of  the 
parched  corn  and  jerked  venison  in  the  In- 
dian's pouch,  he  hurried  to  gather  fuel  for 
the  night.  Then  he  cut  two  poles  from  sas- 
safras saplings,  and  a  quantity  of  brush  and 
slender  grape-vines  as  flexible  as  ropes.  These 
he  spent  the  early  hours  of  the  night  in  weav- 
ing into  a  litter,  so  there  would  be  no  delay 
or  discomfort  in  getting  the  wounded  man 
to  camp.  It  was  near  midnight  when  three 
Indians  with  pine-knot  torches  and  bristling 
with  weapons,  slipped  like  apparitions  out  of 
the  forest.  Johnny  stood  up,  unarmed,  and 
met  their  dark  looks  with  candor  and  sym- 
pathy. 

"Your  brother  lives.  He  knew  nothing 
when  I  found  him  here,  but  may  be  able  to 
tell  you  about  his  mishap  in  the  morning. 
I  would  not  wake  him  now.  He  has  lost 
much  blood  and  is  in  a  fevered  sleep." 

Johnny  turned  from  them  to  test  the 
strength  of  the  litter.     Without  taking  their 

44 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

eyes  from  him,  they  went  to  look  at  the  sleep- 
ing brave  and  to  inspect  the  neat  bandages. 
Then  they  drew  their  blankets  about  them 
and  lay  down  by  the  fire.  Johnny  read  a 
chapter  in  his  Bible  by  the  flare,  said  good 
night,  and  stretched  himself  beside  the  wound- 
ed man  to  share  the  covering.  If  this  in- 
jured hunter  could  give  no  account  of  himself 
in  the  morning,  or  if  he  mistook  Johnny  for 
his  assailant,  there  might  be  a  swift  reckon- 
ing. But  he  would  not  think  of  that.  He 
was  so  exhausted  by  the  day's  march  and  the 
night's  anxious  watch  that  he  was  sound 
asleep  in  five  minutes. 

He  woke  with  such  stiff  and  aching  limbs 
that  the  thought  of  the  wild  leagues  that  lay 
before  him  filled  him  with  sick  misgivings. 
The  Indians  already  had  their  injured  tribes- 
man on  the  litter  and  they  had  his  story. 
He  had  shot  himself  accidentally  when  he 
slipped  in  the  mud  and  tripped  over  washed- 
out  roots,  a  mile  back  on  the  bluff  trail,  and 
had  dragged  himself  to  the  road.  They  had 
found  his  gun  where  he  had  dropped  it  in  the 
path,  and  the  dead  wolf  on  the  slope.  But 
for  this  white  wayfarer  the  bones  of  this 
young  warrior  would  have  been  stripped,  and 

45 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

wolves  did  not  wait  until  a  helpless  man  was 
dead. 

"All  men  should  be  brothers  in  these 
woods,"  said  Johnny. 

The  Indians  were  silent,  but  they  shared 
their  food  with  him,  and  watched  curiously 
as  he  hobbled  about.  They  had  been  so 
taken  up  with  their  own  trouble  that  they  had 
not  speculated  on  his  presence  there  alone, 
in  the  heart  of  the  wilderness.  But  now  they 
noticed  his  lameness  and  his  torn  and  mired 
boots,  and  one  asked,  bluntly: 

"Where  is  your  horse?" 

"I  had  a  horse."  Johnny's  level  look  was 
fearless,  but  it  did  not  accuse  them.  It  was, 
indeed,  full  of  infinite  understanding  and 
compassion.  "Let  us  say  no  more  about 
that."  He  held  out  his  hand  in  friendly 
parting  and  began  to  tie  up  his  pack. 

They  made  haste  to  say  that  they  knew 

nothing  about  his  horse,  but  they  would  keep 

a  lookout  for  the  thief.     And  word  of  how  he 

had  stood  by  this  wounded  brave  should  go 

over  every  trail  of  the  forest.     No  Shawnee 

would  ever  rob  him  again.     And  if  he  would 

follow  them  to  their  camp  they  would  see  him 

safe  to  his  journey's  end. 

46 


THE    WILDERNESS    TRAIL 

Johnny's  heart  leaped  in  his  breast.  "Will 
you  lend  me  a  pony  and  a  guide  to  the  Great 
Crossing,  and  a  canoe  to  Marietta?" 

"Come!"  They  took  up  the  litter  and 
turned  into  the  bluff  trail.  Without  an  in- 
stant's hesitation  Johnny  shouldered  his  gun 
and  his  pack  and  followed  these  Ishmaels  of 
the  forest  whose  tribal  name  was  a  synonym 
for  restless  wandering,  for  ferocity  and  treach- 
ery. The  foot-path  worn  deep  in  the  soil,  the 
undergrowth  arching  overhead,  the  narrow 
trace  was  no  more  than  a  human  rabbit-run  in 
the  woods. 

Two  days  later  he  was  set  afloat  in  a  beau- 
tiful painted  canoe  on  the  winding  current 
of  the  Muskingum.  Paddling  swiftly  down 
to  Zanesville,  he  left  the  mill,  the  stockade, 
and  scattered  cabins  behind,  after  shouting 
to  the  blacksmith  that  he  would  return,  and 
upon  what  errand.  It  was  near  sundown 
when  he  breasted  the  spring-flood  sweep  of 
the  Licking. 

The  wild  geese  were  coming  north.  Frogs 
piped  in  the  swamps.  Does  were  bringing 
their  spotted  fawns  down  to  drink.  The  ice 
was  all  out,  and  streams  were  bank-full  from 
melting  snow.     Sap  was  running,  and  squaws 

47 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

were  boiling  sugar  in  the  maple  groves. 
Miasmic  vapors  rose  from  the  marshes.  Up 
all  the  foot-hill  valleys  of  the  western  slope 
spring  was  hurrying,  as  if  on  the  wings  of 
song.  The  black  soil  of  the  Ohio  bottoms  was 
warming  for  Johnny's  seeds.  The  river,  lying 
in  the  track  of  the  sun,  was  a  stream  of  glory 
when  he  beached  his  canoe,  climbed  the  rail 
fence  and  ran  across  a  clearing  that  was  a 
mere  window  on  the  sky,  to  Isaac  Stadden's 
cabin. 


Ill 

GOOD   SAMARITANS 

OWN  the  Muskingum  Johnny 
dropped  so  rapidly,  stopping 
\1  only  for  a  day  or  two  at  each 
~  cluster  of  cabins  to  put  in 
a  small  nursery,  that  he  ran 
ahead  of  rumor.  Below  Big 
Bottom  and  Fort  Frye  the  current  slack- 
ened, and  his  approach  to  Marietta  was  in- 
dicated when  the  stream  widened  to  two 
hundred  yards  and  the  spectral  sycamores 
that  marched  with  its  banks  were  no  longer 
able  to  meet  in  high  arches  overhead.  But 
even  there  he  was  still  in  the  wilds,  his  water 
highway  girt  by  steep  hills,  hemmed  in  by 
tall  timber,  and  fed  by  countless  little  singing 
creeks.  A  clearing  at  which  he  asked  per- 
mission to  use  any  bit  of  waste  land  suitable 
for  his  purpose,  and  the  pleasant  tinkle  of 
cow-bells  in  the  woods,  were  signs   that  he 

49 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  dauntless  town 
which,  only  a  dozen  years  before,  had  been 
the  first  to  front  the  flood  of  the  River 
Beautiful. 

Then  there  were  sounds  of  hammers,  the 
zipping  wail  of  a  saw  in  hard  wood,  and  the 
clatter  of  a  fallen  plank  that  sent  birds  and 
squirrels  skurrying  to  cover.  Another  man 
in  his  place,  after  three  weeks  in  the  wilder- 
ness, would  have  dipped  the  paddle  briskly 
to  round  the  next  bend  where,  no  doubt,  lay 
a  floating  mill,  and  some  such  ambitious  and 
social  business  as  putting  proper  floors  and 
doors  in  a  cabin  was  afoot.  But  Johnny 
nosed  his  canoe  into  a  clump  of  willows  on 
the  eastern  bank,  jumped  out,  and  broke 
through  the  tasseling  screen  into  a  hill  and 
tree-rimmed  cove. 

It  was  just  such  a  place  as  he  looked  for 
everywhere — a  sheltered  nook  overgrown  with 
all  the  flowering  vines  and  shrubs  of  the  forest. 
To  lovely  and  neglected  spots  like  this  song- 
birds retreated  before  the  devastation  of  white 
men,  and  later  generations  of  children  found 
the  thorny  thickets  of  wild-apple  blossonis 
that  were  a  beautiful  by-product  of  John- 
ny's labors.     Not  large  enough  for  fields,  too 

50 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

steeply  walled  for  safe  pastures,  they  were  long 
left  undisturbed  to  the  slow-growing  seeds  of 
his  planting. 

Johnny  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  work. 
From  soil  as  soft  and  loose  as  an  ash-heap  he 
pulled  forest  seedlings  and  weed -stalks  by 
hand.  Tough  bushes,  briers  and  saplings  he 
cut  down  with  his  hatchet,  and  grubbed  out 
the  roots;  and  with  his  hoe  he  destroyed  the 
innumerable  cones  of  annuals  that,  pushing 
through  the  blanket  of  drifted  leaves,  ran  up 
every  rise  in  flickers  of  pale-green  fire.  The 
ground  cleared  over  a  fraction  of  an  acre  on 
the  well-drained  slope  that  faced  westward 
toward  the  river,  he  raked  it  free  of  clods, 
opened  orderly  rows  of  trenches,  and  put  in 
and  covered  up  his  seeds. 

He  was  used  to  working  thus  all  day,  often 
eating  a  noon  snack  of  rude  fare  on  his  feet, 
and  not  stopping  until  he  had  marked  the 
plot  and  closed  any  opening  in  the  protecting 
wall  with  a  stout  barrier  of  stakes  and  brush. 
But  for  several  nights  now,  whether  in  the 
open  or  on  a  cabin  hearth,  he  had  slept  ill  and 
had  wakened  shivering  in  the  cold  dawns 
when  fog  sheeted  the  marshy  bottom-lands. 
In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he  cooled  his 

51 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

hot  face  and  hands  at  a  spring  and  lay  down 
on  a  patch  of  buffalo  clover. 

Scarcely  a  murmur  of  the  world  without 
penetrated  the  little  greening  hollow  that 
distilled  the  earliest  incense  of  spring.  The 
sounds  of  tools,  so  loud  on  the  river,  were  soft- 
ened here  to  the  drumming  of  woodpeckers, 
chattering  of  squirrels  and  songs  of  birds. 
In  his  swift  travel,  where  he  bespoke  men 
only  in  passing,  Johnny  was  coming  to  find 
companionship  in  his  furred  and  feathered 
neighbors,  noting  their  nest-building,  court- 
ship-caroling, and  busy  foraging.  His  glance, 
roving  up  to  a  crow  that  cawed  from  the  top 
of  a  Cottonwood,  fell  to  a  fluttering  patch  of 
the  discreetly  warm  color  of  the  tea-roses  that 
had  bloomed  beside  his  grandmother's  cot- 
tage door  in  Boston.  Then  there  was  a  laugh 
that  bubbled  up  from  the  heart  of  a  child. 
"Oh!  I  thought  you  were  an  Indian!" 
Johnny  scrambled  to  his  moccasined  feet, 
for  he  had  discarded  his  torturing  boots  in 
the  Shawnee  camp,  and  took  off  his  fur 
cap  to  the  little  maid  above  him.  Her  full- 
skirted  gown  of  linsey,  that  blew  in  the  breeze 
about  her  ankles,  and  the  folded  kerchief, 
were  of  a  fashion  that  went  out  when  the  un- 

52 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

happy  queen  for  whom  Marietta  was  named 
laid  her  lovely  head  on  the  block.  The  colof 
of  the  gown  was  but  temporary — a  spring 
blossoming,  as  it  were,  due  to  experimental 
steeping  in  sassafras  tea. 

"  There  are  no  Indians  about  here,"  Johnny 
reassured  her,  gravely;  but  she  nodded  posi- 
tively. 

"They  always  come  down  the  bluff  trail 
along  the  west  bank  to  sell  their  furs  when 
the  geese  fly  north."  She  seated  herself  on 
the  buttressing  roots  of  a  beech-tree,  on  the 
rim  of  his  horizon,  and  took  her  knitting 
from  her  belt.  Girls  were  obliged  to  grow  up 
early  in  that  day  and  place.  At  sixteen  most 
of  them  were  married,  and  idleness  was  sin 
in  a  maid  of  fourteen. 

"  I'm  as  'f  raid  as  death  of  Indians."  She  sud- 
denly turned  a  pallid  face  and  wide  blue  eyes 
upon  him— a  look  that  he  remembered,  when 
he  saw  it  again  in  tortured  fancy  years  after- 
ward in  an  hour  of  anguish.  "They— they 
killed— my  father  and  mother— in  the  mas- 
sacre— at  Big  Bottom." 

Johnny  bared  his  head.  Big  Bottom,  forty 
miles  up  the  Muskingum,  was  now  a  place 
of  corn  and  wheat  fields,  of  grazing  cattle  and 

53 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

populous  cabins.  It  had  been  difficult  for 
him  to  realize  the  tragic  event  there  of  ten 
years  before,  that  had  ushered  in  half  a  dec- 
ade of  savage  warfare.  Such  horrors  might 
happen  again;  there  was  a  stockade  in  every 
settlement,  and  the  government's  Fort  Har- 
mer  at  Marietta.  But  presently  she  put  the 
matter  out  of  her  mind,  showing  of  what 
sterling  New  England  stuff  she  was  fashioned. 

"I  came  to  find  these  hepaticas,  and  to  sit 
by  them  awhile." 

She  cleared  last  year's  rusty  foliage  from 
a  nest  of  faint-blue  blossoms,  and  then,  blush- 
ing a  little,  kissed  them  and  left  them  to  nod 
on  their  mossy  stems.  A  Puritan  maid,  she 
was  far  too  well  brought  up  to  ask  questions, 
but  she  glanced  curiously  at  the  small,  culti- 
vated plot,  and  Johnny  held  up  a  handful  of 
shining  brown  seeds. 

"I  know  what  they  are — apple-seeds!  Dr. 
True  has  an  apple-tree,  and  when  it  blooms 
it's  the  wonder  of  the  town.  The  older  peo- 
ple tell  fairy- stories  of  orchards  in  the  East 
that  bury  little  homes  in  blossoms.     I  wish — ' ' 

She  stopped,  for  Johnny  had  flung  his  arm 
across  his  eyes.  After  a  moment  he  looked 
at  her  again.     "  There  will  be  such  orchards 


54 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

here  for  every  one."  His  face  was  so  pale, 
but  his  smile  so  grave  and  sweet,  that  she  fell 
into  a  wondering  silence.  She  was  not  sur- 
prised to  find  him  here,  for  in  this  Mecca 
of  the  New  West  strangers  arrived  by  every 
boat  and  over  every  trail  of  the  forest;  but 
it  was  an  unheard  -  of  thing  to  see  a  man 
planting  trees  where  every  other  one  was  at 
the  bitter  necessity  of  chopping  them  down. 
By  and  by  she  remembered  a  polite  ceremony 
that  had  been  omitted. 

"My  name  is  Betty  Stacey.  Please,  will 
you  tell  me  yours?" 

"Johnny." 

It  occurred  to  neither  of  them  that  the  in- 
formation lacked  anything,  and  now  that  they 
were  acquainted  she  offered  shy  confidences 
and  hospitality. 

"It  was  Aunt  Mary  Lake  who  found  me 
where  mother  hid  me  in  the  woods,  and 
.  brought  me  up.  She  isn't  any  relation,  but 
just  everybody's  Aunt  Mary.  She  must  be 
getting  old,  for  she's  sixty;  but  she's  so  busy 
doing  things  for  people  that  I  guess  she  for- 
got about  it.  Won't  you  come  to  see  her? 
Please,  Johnny." 

"To-morrow."  He  explained  that  he  had 
5  55 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

to  make  a  brush  fence  across  the  gully  that 
had  been  cut  in  the  rim  of  the  cove  by  the 
spring,  to  keep  deer  and  cattle  out.  Then 
he  must  find  some  one  in  the  town  to  keep 
weeds  and  forest  seedlings  from  choking  his 
nursery. 

Betty  listened  with  eager  sympathy.  Her 
pretty  face  had  warmed  to  the  blush  of  the 
wild  rose,  and  no  fox-squirrel  had  fur  of  so 
bright  and  burnished  a  brown  as  the  hair 
that  curled  on  her  neck.  It  was  the  color 
that  went  with  black-lashed  eyes  as  darkly 
blue  as  the  waters  of  the  Muskingum,  and 
sun-kisses  across  the  bridge  of  a  proud  little 
nose  that  drooped  at  the  tip. 

She  had  meant  to  go,  but  Johnny  closed  his 
eyes  as  if  in  weariness  and  discomfort,  and  fell 
into  such  an  uneasy  sleep  on  the  slope  below 
her  that  she  sat  as  still  as  any  mouse  and 
watched  over  him  with  sweet,  maternal  solici- 
tude. The  sun  was  shining  on  a  level  along 
the  forest  aisles  when  he  was  awakened  by 
a  crash  that  shook  the  hill.  Betty  was  on 
her  feet,  back  toward  him,  gazing  down  into 
the  wood. 

"Did  the  cabin  fall?"  he  cried. 

"The  cabin?     It  was  in  the  shipyard.     A 

56 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

prop  gave  way  and  a  pile  of  timbers  tumbled 
down." 

He  ran  up  the  slope.  Below,  on  a  shadowy 
bend  of  the  river,  a  wide  swath  had  been  cut 
in  the  ranks  of  trees,  and  on  the  grassy  ways 
lay  a  long  hull,  like  a  viking  ship  of  old  on 
a  Norse  fjord.  It  was  an  astonishing  thing 
to  see  an  ocean-sailing  vessel  of  a  hundred 
tons  burden  nearing  its  launching  on  this  far- 
inland  stream;  but  Johnny  remembered  that 
the  leaders  of  the  Ohio  Company  were  Revo- 
lutionary officers  from  the  ports  of  New  Eng- 
land, who  had  built  a  second  Mayflower  at 
Pittsburg.  Ship -building  was  a  habit  with 
men  of  that  breed,  and  the  navigation  of  un- 
charted waters  a  trade. 

" There,"  said  Betty,  delightedly,  as  a  huge 
young  negro  shouldered  his  way  through  the 
crowd  of  men  in  the  yard.  "Kitt  Putnam 
has  come  from  the  mill  to  pile  the  timbers  up 
again.  He's  the  biggest,  strongest,  kindest 
darky  in  the  world.  He'll  keep  the  weeds 
out  of  your  little  bits  of  baby  apple-trees  for 
you." 

Down  the  hill  she  sped  in  happy  excite- 
ment and  crossed  a  freshly  plowed  stump- 
lot.     Johnny  called  to  her  to  wait  for  him 

57 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

when  she  paused  on  the  edge  of  a  drainage 
ditch,  looking  down  ruefully  at  her  pretty, 
yellow  moccasins,  but  Kitt  ran  and  set  her 
across.  He  was  not  a  river  negro  from  Ken- 
tucky, but  a  freedman  who  had  been  the 
body-servant  of  old  Gen.  Israel  Putnam  in  the 
East.  Brought  out  by  Colonel  Israel,  he  was 
a  universal  favorite  in  Marietta  and  Belpre 
because  of  his  good  manners,  his  prowess  in 
sports,  and  the  cheerful  willingness  with  which 
he  served  every  one  with  his  phenomenal 
strength  and  dexterity. 

Before  she  disappeared  in  the  thin  belt  of 
forest  that  hid  the  town,  the  gay  and  tender 
child  turned  and  waved  to  him  again.  Al- 
ready ties  of  interest  and  affection  were  be- 
ginning to  bind  Johnny  to  the  New  West. 
He  was  no  hermit  of  the  woods.  It  was  the 
pathos  of  his  solitary  and  wandering  life  that 
people  touched  his  imagination  and  twined 
about  his  heart. 

Twilight  was  darkening  in  the  cove  when 
he  came  up  from  the  deserted  shipyard  with 
fuel  for  his  fire.  For  easier  carriage  the  seeds 
had  been  transferred  to  a  bag  made  of  can- 
vas from  a  caravan  cover.  With  them  he 
shared  his  brush  bed   and  a  corner  of  his 

58 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

blanket  to  protect  them  from  the  damp. 
Unable  to  eat  anything,  he  lay  down  at  once 
under  a  canopy  of  unfurling  leaves  so  sketchy 
that  he  could  consider  the  heavens.  He 
knew  only  the  polar  stars,  by  which  mariners 
and  hunters  have  steered  their  way  since  time 
began,  but  he  was  beginning  to  take  note  of 
other  groups  and  planets  that  bloomed  night- 
ly on  the  dark.  And  it  was  by  such  reverent 
and  poetic  watchers  that  the  sky  was  mapped 
and  peopled. 

Even  in  his  dreaming  dozes  Johnny  was 
conscious  of  throbbing  head  and  burning  skin. 
Twice  he  got  up  to  replenish  the  fire;  and  in 
a  dawn  turned  suddenly  bleak  he  was  aroused 
by  the  desolate  cries  of  geese  winging  their 
way  northward.  Then  he  fell  into  a  pro- 
found sleep,  and  while  he  slept  the  fire  was 
quenched  by  rising  vapors.  Fog  filled  the 
green  bowl  to  the  brim,  and  he  woke  in  a  chill 
that  gripped  his  heart. 

When  the  sun  rose  and  pulled  the  earth 
cloud  up  into  the  blue,  and  all  the  undergrowth 
sparkled  and  dripped  as  with  rain,  he  wrap- 
ped his  blanket  about  the  seeds  and  dragged 
himself  to  the  sunniest  slope.  There  he  lay 
in    a    frozen   agony   that   was   unbelievable. 

59 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

Soon  waves  of  warmth  ran  over  him,  then 
flashes  of  heat,  then  consuming  fires.  Hear- 
ing the  sounds  of  saws  and  hammers  in  the 
shipyard,  he  cried  aloud  for  water,  but  could 
not  make  himself  heard.  He  found  the 
spring  and,  having  drunk,  fell  in  the  cold, 
saturated  moss  and  slept  away  the  fever.  It 
was  in  the  white  void  of  fog  that  he  woke 
again,  in  a  chill  that  was  like  the  rigor  of 
death. 

With  the  return  of  the  fever  his  mind  wan- 
dered, so  that  he  babbled  of  senseless  things. 
But  even  then  subconsciousness  was  in  the 
grip  of  dark  anxiety  for  what  he  must  guard 
with  his  life.  He  groped  his  way  blindly  and 
flung  his  arms  wide  across  the  bag  of  seeds. 
Hours  later  he  was  dimly  conscious  of  light, 
flying  footsteps,  a  pulsing  pillow  under  his 
head,  and  warm  drops  on  his  face.  Then 
great  arms  lifted  him  into  the  canoe  and  he 
drifted  down  into  darkness  and  oblivion. 

Betty  had  run  on  before,  and  Mary  Lake 
had  her  one  four-poster  bed  out  from  the  wall 
and  spread  with  tow-linen  sheets,  when  Kitt 
Putnam  "toted"  Johnny  up  from  the  river 
and  into  her  good  house  within  Marietta's  old 
garrison  inclosure  of  Campus  Martius.   When 

60 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

she  had  stripped  off  his  wet  buckskins  and 
got  him  into  one  of  her  own  long  gowns,  he 
lay  in  a  restless  moaning  that  was  a  piteous 
thing  to  see  and  hear. 

Mary  Lake's  clear,  gray  eyes  had  seen  a 
variety  of  things  in  many  ports  of  the  world 
in  the  forty-odd  years  since  Captain  Lake  of 
a  Newfoundland  fishing  fleet  shipped  a  bride 
at  Bristol,  England.  For  one  thing,  as  a 
nurse  in  Washington's  camp  at  Fishkill,  she 
had  seen  young  men  as  ill  of  remittent  fever 
as  Johnny  get  well.  The  first  thing  to  do 
was  to  have  as  few  people  underfoot  as  pos- 
sible; so  when  Kitt  had  gone  for  Dr.  True 
she  shut  her  door  against  anxious  and  willing 
neighbors  and  pulled  the  latch -string  in. 
Then  she  spoke  to  the  grief  and  terror  stricken 
child  who  clung  to  the  foot-rail  of  Johnny's 
bed. 

"Sit  by  him,  my  lass,  if  it  will  comfort  'ee, 
and  fan  him  with  a  turkey  wing."  She  still 
had  a  bit  of  her  girlhood  dialect,  and  she 
might  have  been  born  in  her  straight  gray 
gown  and  snowy  cap.  Without  haste  or  noise 
or  litter,  she  was  making  papery  medicine 
wafers  in  a  camp  spider  at  the  huge  stone 
fireplace  when  Dr.  True  came  in. 

61 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"Oh,  doctor,"  faltered  Betty,  "I  think  he 
wants  water.' '  Tears  hung  on  her  eyelashes, 
for  even  the  children  of  that  day  knew  that 
water  was  poison  to  one  sick  of  a  fever.  But 
Dr.  True  was  a  medical  heretic.  And,  in- 
deed, he  had  been  chosen  by  the  Ohio  Com- 
pany to  care  for  the  health  of  this  frontier 
settlement,  where  orthodox  remedies  were 
often  not  to  be  had,  just  because  of  his  ability 
and  willingness  to  lean  back  hard  on  Mother 
Nature  and  Mary  Lake. 

"Wants  water,  does  he?  That's  reason- 
able. Give  me  such  a  temperature  and  I'd 
jump  into  the  garrison  well." 

Johnny  drank  and  drank  and  drank.  The 
doctor  flung  the  covers  back  impatiently  and 
bade  Kitt  open  the  "port -holes,"  his  hu- 
morous name  for  the  small,  hinged  windows 
which  were  sunk  in  the  walls  of  six-inch-thick, 
whip-sawed  poplar  planks.  Later  houses  were 
much  ruder,  but  the  very  first  ones  built  in 
Marietta  were  dove-tailed  together  like  the 
drawers  of  a  wardrobe  chest,  and  had  proper 
fittings  of  glass  and  hardware. 

"There,  that's  better.  The  man  was  gasp- 
ing like  a  fish.  Hm  —  hm!  this  is  quite  a 
conflagration.     I  happen  to  be  out  of  that — 

62 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

Guess  we'll  have  to  put  this  fire  out  with 
water,  Mary." 

Betty  was  set  to  washing  Johnny's  earth- 
stained  face  and  hands  while  Mary  Lake 
bathed  the  burning  body  under  the  sheet. 
The  doctor  asked  no  questions  about  his  pa- 
tient, for  he  was  at  the  free  call  of  every 
stranger  within  the  gates;  and  Mary  Lake's 
house  was  a  hospital,  in  time  of  need,  main- 
tained by  the  Ohio  Company.  But  the  young 
face  on  the  pillow  interested  and  puzzled 
him,  for  it  was  of  a  type  not  often  seen  in  the 
ruthless  business  of  pioneering.  An  Ichabod 
Crane  of  a  middle-aged  bachelor,  he  sat  with 
one  long,  thin  leg  dangling  over  the  other, 
peering  around  his  big  nose  with  the  one  eye 
that  was  of  any  use  to  him,  and  switching 
back  the  hair  that  he  still  wore  in  a  ribboned 
cue,  in  the  inconvenient  fashion  of  an  earlier 
day. 

By  the  dim  light  of  deer-tallow  candles  the 
two  toiled  over  Johnny.  The  doctor  kept  a 
finger  on  the  small,  hard,  racing  pulse,  and 
three  times  during  the  night-watch  he  gave 
a  dose  of  some  remedy  which  he  managed 
never  to  be  without. 

"He's  holding  his  own — the  heart  rallies. " 

63 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

The  medicine  -  man  looked  encouragement 
across  to  his  white-haired  comrade  of  many 
a  victory  over  death  since  they  two  lifted  the 
siege  of  smallpox  from  this  garrison,  in  the 
first,  hard  year  of  occupation.  They  were 
still  toiling  when  a  cock  crew. 

"The   turn   is  coming.     Be  ready,  Mary. 
We  shall  have  to  be  getting  this  man  warm, 


soon/' 


The  opening  of  Mary  Lake's  door  was  a 
signal  for  help,  and  the  giving  of  it  a  public 
duty.  Night-capped  heads  looked  out  of  half 
the  twenty  plank  houses  that  faced  one  an- 
other from  the  four  sides  of  the  square. 

11  Boil  corn,  and  keep  the  kettles  hot  against 
Kitt's  coming.  Some  one  milk  a  cow,  and 
I'm  giving  my  lassie  leave  to  rob  any  nest  of 
a  fresh  egg."  She  roused  the  negro,  who  had 
slept  on  a  buffalo  robe  on  the  hearth.  "Kitt, 
do  'ee  get  into  Mr.  Woodbridge's  store  on 
The  Point;  aye,  lad,  if  ye  have  to  break  in, 
and  fetch  a  jug  of  whisky." 

The  fever  went  suddenly,  leaving  Johnny 
collapsed,  all  but  senseless,  and  drenched  with 
icy  sweat.  Only  the  black  knight  of  emer- 
gencies had  the  swift  and  easy  strength  to 
rub  the  warming  alcohol  in  hard  and  fast 

64 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

enough,  and  then  to  truss  the  patient  up  into 
that  primitive  hot  pack,  the  "corn  sweat. " 
Milk  and  eggs  and  the  broth  of  wild  ducks 
fed  the  flickering  fires  of  life  and  helped  break 
the  rigors  of  a  chill  that  was  without  tremors ; 
and  perspiration  checked  the  rising  tempera- 
ture. Then  the  fight  began  again,  for  this  se- 
verest form  of  malaria  that  struck  down  the 
imprudent  new-comer  along  the  undrained 
waterways  of  the  West,  ran  its  course  in  a 
vicious  circle  that  gave  the  victim  no  rest. 

Kitt  had  brought  all  of  Johnny's  belongings 
up  from  the  cove;  so  when,  in  his  delirium, 
he  cried  out  for  his  seeds,  Betty  dragged  the 
heavy  bag  to  the  bedside.  "Here  they  are, 
Johnny,  all  safe,"  and  she  guided  his  search- 
ing hand. 

"Why,  what—  Who's  this?"  The  fruit 
and  flower  loving  doctor,  who  had  helped 
Major  Doughty  bring  up  peach -seeds  with 
army  stores  from  the  Potomac,  and  plant 
them  about  Fort  Harmer  and  in  the  settle- 
ment, drew  out  a  handful  of  the  astonishing 
contents  of  the  bag.     "A  nurseryman!" 

"He  planted  a  big  patch  on  Commodore 
Whipple's  farm  above  the  shipyard,  and  he 
said  there  would  be  orchards  here  for  every 

65 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

one,  as  if  he  meant — meant  to  give  his  little 
apple-trees  away." 

The  doctor  put  the  precious  seeds  back, 
and  tied  the  string  securely,  so  that  not  one 
should  fall  on  the  stony  ground  of  Mary 
Lake's  scoured  maple  floor.  And  when  he 
found  the  initials  "  J.  C."  rudely  splashed  in 
butternut  dye  on  the  canvas,  he  dropped  to 
his  seat. 

"It's  Jonathan  Chapman,  that  good — 
good  Samaritan  of  Pittsburg,  come  to  settle 
in  Marietta.  Praise  God,  from  whom  all 
blessings  flow!" 

The  first  things  of  which  Johnny  was  clear- 
ly conscious  were  the  hum  of  Betty's  flax- 
wheel  and  the  pleasant  vision  of  Mary  Lake 
at  her  loom.  Then  a  little  boy  stood  in  the 
doorway,  rubbing  the  dusty  toes  of  one  foot 
against  the  other  ankle,  and  staring  at  a  man 
in  bed  on  a  sunny  day. 

"Do  'ee  get  him  a  cooky,  my  lass." 

The  wheel  whirred  to  a  stop,  and  Betty, 
going  to  a  built-in  corner  cupboard,  took  a 
crisp  cake  from  a  covered  jar  of  brown  crock- 
ery. She  gave  it  to  the  child  with  an  affec- 
tionate pinch  of  the  red  cheek,  and  he  was 
gone  in  a  flash.     Afterward  Johnny  heard 

66 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

the  wonder-story  of  the  cooky-jar  that  Mary 
Lake  had  bought  in  Bristol  on  her  wedding- 
day,  and  kept  filled  with  unaccustomed  sweets 
for  the  bridegroom  captain  and  the  crew  of 
the  Mary  Bird  all  the  way  to  the  Grand 
Banks  of  Newfoundland.  By  miracles  of  re- 
sourcefulness, and  a  loving-kindness  that  had 
never  failed,  it  had  been  replenished  for  the 
pleasure  of  a  forty-year-long  procession  of 
children  of  her  own  and  other  households. 

Now  the  flax- wheel  hummed  again,  and 
by  open  doors  spring  flowed  like  a  healing 
stream  through  the  little  home  of  love  and 
peace.  It  was  moments  before  the  soft  air 
and  the  smell  of  peach-blossoms  in  General 
Varnum's  garden  made  Johnny  realize  with 
a  shock  the  mischance  that  had  lost  him 
weeks  of  the  season's  sowing. 

To  gain  strength  for  his  journey  he  began 
to  dig  and  plant  in  the  flower-beds  of  every 
tiny  front  dooryard  in  Campus  Martius,  as 
soon  as  he  could  crawl  out  into  the  sunshine. 
By  such  friendly  services  in  picket-fenced 
gardens  he  made  his  way  across  the  strag- 
gling town.  The  houses  had  been  hastily  built 
of  logs  and  of  planks  from  broken-up  flat- 
boats,   it   is   true    but   the  muddy,   stump- 

67 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

strewn  roads  were  as  broad  and  straight,  and 
as  pleasantly  shaded  with  forest  hardwoods, 
as  any  village  of  New  England.  The  settle- 
ment had  its  classic  learning  from  Harvard 
and  Dartmouth,  its  Yankee  energy  and  Revo- 
lutionary courage.  But  the  South  faced  it 
across  the  Ohio;  the  red  tribes  were  sinister 
neighbors  on  a  border  that  they  crossed  at 
will;  and  from  stormy  France  a  wave  had 
swept  its  human  wreckage  to  these  far  shores. 
So  Marietta  was  losing  its  down-east  speech 
and  rigid  Puritan  code,  and  getting  a  view- 
point and  vernacular  of  its  own. 

In  less  than  a  week  Johnny  started,  one 
afternoon,  to  walk  out  to  Dr.  True's  farm, 
east  of  the  town,  to  see  the  famous  apple-tree. 
The  way  lay  along  Sacra  Via,  the  mounting 
road  that  had  been  cut  through  dense  woods 
to  the  Big  Mound — earthworks  of  a  vanished 
race,  now  dotted  with  the  white  man's  neatly 
lettered  headboards. 

At  this  time  his  orchard  in  Pittsburg  would 
be  in  bud.  It  was  too  early  to  expect — and 
then  he  stopped,  thinking  that  yearning  mem- 
ory was  playing  him  a  trick.  But  in  another 
moment  he  saw  the  small,  well- cultivated 
farm,  forest-girt,  that  lay  up  a  hillside  and 

68 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

looked  out  to  the  broad  sweep  of  the  river 
and  the  Virginia  mountains.  The  symmetri- 
cal bouquet  of  pink  and  pearl  was  lifted  above 
the  rustic  cabin  and  a  thrifty  plantation  of 
young  peach-trees  which  had  dropped  their 
blossoms.  The  doctor  called  to  him  from  a 
tilted  chair  under  the  boughs. 

"If  anybody's  sick,  don't  tell  me,  Johnny. 
People  can  be  ill  any  time,  but  my  apple- 
tree  blooms  but  once  a  year." 

Exhausted  by  the  two-mile  tramp,  Johnny 
dropped  to  the  grass  and  lay  looking  up  with 
such  a  smile  of  gentle  sweetness  and  happi- 
ness as  this  medical  man  had  never  seen. 
He  was  steeping  his  soul  in  the  loveliness  and 
promise  of  the  tree.     What  orchards  he  could 
make  grow  in  the  mild  climate  and  virgin  soil 
of  the  New  West !     The  doctor  had  bought  it 
of   Johnny's   predecessor  in   Pittsburg   only 
seven  years  before,  and  fetched  it  down  in 
the  cabin  of  the  mail-packet.     New  England 
could  not  have  grown  it  in  twenty  years,  and 
then  would  have  toughened  and  dwarfed  and 
twisted  it  into  some  half-wild,  defiant  thing. 
This  had  sprung  up  straight  and  round-headed 
as  a  sugar  maple,  bright-barked  as  a  rose  cane. 
A  queen  of  beauty  of  a  thousand  generations 

69 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

of  gentle  ancestry,  it  reigned  over  that  wild 
landscape,  and  it  had  its  court  of  honey-bees. 

"Are  the  apples  good?" 

The  doctor  could  scarcely  contain  his  pride. 
"It  is  not  in  full  bearing  yet,  but  it's  a  Sum- 
mer Sweeting." 

"It  has  a  more  important  work  to  do  than 
bearing  you  a  crop  of  apples.  You  are  going 
to  strip  it,  every  season,  of  its  choicest  buds, 
so  every  household  for  miles  around  can  have 
a  tree  of  Summer  Sweetings."  Johnny  had 
lifted  himself  to  his  elbow,  and  his  cavernous 
eyes  darkened  and  glowed  in  a  face  wasted 
by  fever.  "I  must  teach  you  the  art  of 
budding  and  grafting." 

"We  are  all  willing  to  work  and  to  make 
sacrifices  here  for  the  common  good."  The 
tilted  chair  came  down,  and  with  his  hands  on 
his  knees  the  doctor  leaned  forward.  Rumor 
had  overtaken  this  heroic  and  inspired  youth 
while  he  lay  unconscious,  and  if  it  had  not  Dr. 
True  could  have  read  his  loving  purpose  in  the 
eyes  that  burned  with  zeal  and  compassion. 

"Ill  take  charge  of  your  nursery  here — 
keep  an  eye  on  Kitt's  work.  Young  fruit- 
trees  are  like  babies.  They  pine  away  and 
die  if  they  are  not  mothered  by  some  one  who 

70 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

loves  them.  Johnny,  I  thought  I  had  heard 
of  all  the  ways  there  were  to  serve  God." 
His  single  eye  watered,  and  to  hide  his  emo- 
tion he  began  to  scold:  " Don't  be  so  foolish 
as  to  get  sick  again.  There  are  not  three 
doctors  nor  two  Mary  Lakes  in  Ohio.  And 
don't  try  to  live  on  locusts  and  wild  honey. 
I  am  often  obliged  to  go  fifty  miles  by  canoe, 
or  on  horseback,  when  a  man  lets  a  tree  fall 
on  him  or  is  clawed  by  a  wildcat,  but  I  sleep 
in  a  cabin  and  eat  civilized  food  when  I  can. 
And  when  I  can't  I  camp  along  the  upland 
trails  as  the  Indians  do,  and  not  in  the  bot- 
tom of  a  fog- well.  I'll  make  up  some  Peru- 
vian-bark powders  to  nip  malaria  in  the  bud." 

He  was  coming  out  of  the  house  with  the 
packet  when  a  man  ran  from  the  woods  with 
incoherent  cries.  He  had  brought  his  young 
wife  all  the  way  from  Big  Bottom  in  a  canoe, 
and  she  was  at  Mary  Lake's,  in  the  terrors 
and  pains  of  first  childbirth. 

The  doctor  chuckled  over  his  own  good  luck 
in  having  Johnny  thrown  on  his  hospital  i 
"That  turns  you  out.  Mary's  got  another 
lame  dog  to  mend,  and  no  room  for  you. 
You'll  have  to  live  with  me  until  you  arc  well 
enough  to  travel." 

6  71 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"I'm  going  to-morrow.  Good-by!"  He 
got  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  hand.  When 
the  doctor  was  gone  he  had  to  fight  against 
a  weakness  and  lassitude  that  dismayed  him, 
and  against  an  aching  desire  to  sleep  there  in 
the  scented  night  and  in  the  balmy  wind 
which  blew  all  the  way  from  the  Gulf.  The 
tree  had  a  pearly  radiance  in  the  dusk  when 
he  turned  his  back  upon  it  and  went  swiftly 
down  to  the  crowded  and  noisy  settlement. 

The  spring  flood -tide  of  migration  had 
backed  up  at  Marietta.  For  a  week  every  sort 
of  water  craft  had  been  making  fast  to  the 
trees,  for  the  honor  of  being  at  the  launching  of 
the  St.  Clair,  the  first  sailing-vessel  on  Western 
waters  to  attempt  the  voyage  to  New  Orleans. 
Pine  torches  flared  from  boats  and  landings, 
and  from  the  five  bastions  of  the  pentago- 
nal fortifications  of  Port  Harmer,  across  the 
Muskingum.  Lower  Muskingum  Street,  the 
merchants'  row  that  ran  along  the  bank  to 
The  Point,  flared  with  these  smoking  lights 
and  swarmed  with  emigrants,  traders,  French 
rowers,  Negro  polemen  and  Indians. 

Through  this  press  Johnny  pushed  his 
way.  He  had  given  half  his  money  to  the 
doctor,  who  needed  all  he  could  get  "to  buy 

72 


GOOD    SAMARITANS 

medicines  for  poor  folks."  Now  he  spent  the 
other  half.  He  paid  the  captain  of  the  mail- 
packet  to  fetch  the  little  rocking-chair  to 
Mary  Lake,  on  his  next  trip  from  Pittsburg; 
and  he  bought  a  basket  of  maple  sugar  of  a 
Shawnee  squaw  to  help  keep  the  cooky- jar 

filled. 

Then  for  hours  he  stood  before  the  door 
of  the  Ohio  Company's  land-office,  waylaying 
men,  inquiring  their  destination,  marking  the 
most  energetic  and  public-spirited,  learning 
that  many  were  going  to  Cincinnati  or  to  the 
new  settlements  of  Chillicothe  and  Dayton. 
Was  he  going  up  the  Scioto  and  Miami  to  put 
in  his  nurseries? 

"lam  going  to  the  Indian  border,  all  the 
way  from  Dayton  to  Cleveland,"  he  reassured 

them. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  the  crowds  dis- 
persed and  the  torches  were  extinguished. 
At  once  the  illimitable  leagues  of  woods  and 
hills  and  waters  went  black  and  closed  in  on 
the  sleeping  town.  In  pitch-darkness  Johnny 
went  up  the  steep  path  to  Campus  Martius 
to  leave  the  basket  of  sugar  on  Alary  Lake's 
door-step.  Then  he  descended  the  bluff  to 
the  bank  of  the  Muskingum.     He  had  a  key 

73 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

to  the  boat  and  warehouse  where  his  canoe 
was  stored.  The  foul  odors  of  skins,  fish  ref- 
use, tar  and  hemp  ropes  sickened  him;  but 
he  meant  to  sleep  there,  with  his  bag  of  seeds 
for  a  pillow,  and  to  be  away  at  dawn. 


IV 


THE   QUEEN   OF   THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 


^JOHNNY  got  away  so  very  early 
the  next  morning  that  the  blue 
wood -smoke    had    not    begim 
to  curl  up  from  the  chimn. 
of  the  town.     He  was  storing 
things  away  compactly  in  the 
canoe  when  Betty  ran  down  the  bluff  and 
sat  upon  a  rocky  shelf  above  him.     She  w 
of  that  breed  of  New  England  women  who, 
from   beach   and  wharf   and   decked   house- 
top, watch  their  men  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  and  do  what  weeping  they  must  in  the 
night-watches.     Now    she    gave    Johnny    a 
straw  hat  of  her  own  deft  and  patient  bra: 
ing,  and  then  sat  talking  to  him  as  he  work 

"Won't  you  stay  for  the  launching?  Plea  . 
Johnny!  Such  crowds  and  fun!  And  I  want 
you  to  see  our  Queen  of  the  Fain-  Island, 
Mrs.  Blennerhasset.     She  lives  in  a  big  white 

75 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

palace  on  Isle  le  Beau,  across  from  Belpre, 
and  she's  the  most  beautiful  lady  in  the  world. 
She'll  ride  up  through  the  woods  to-day  on 
a  black-satin  horse,  and  wear  her  scarlet  habit 
of  British  army  cloth.  Her  father  was  Gen- 
eral Agnew  of  the  English  army,  and  she's  so 
proud  of  it  that  she  wears  his  colors." 

Johnny  smiled  and  shook  his  head  at  the 
eager  child.  He  must  be  off  at  once  and  make 
the  most  of  the  shortened  season.  But  he 
meant  to  stop  at  Isle  le  Beau,  where  he  was 
sure  of  quick  sympathy  and  intelligent  co- 
operation. The  Blennerhassets,  with  their 
fabulous  wealth,  luxurious  style  of  living,  and 
the  magnificent  estate  that  they  were  build- 
ing up  on  an  island  in  the  Ohio,  made  a  tale 
of  Arabian  Nights'  enchantment  to  the  poor 
and  struggling  people  of  the  river  settlements. 
And  they  did  not  hold  themselves  aloof.  The 
mistress  of  the  mansion  lavished  on  these 
wilds  accomplishments  that  had  graced  the 
courts  of  Europe,  and  the  master  backed  ev- 
ery forward  movement.  It  was  he  who  was 
financing  this  ship-building  venture.  With 
the  English  love  for  gardening  and  a  knowl- 
edge of  botany  they  had  made  a  velvet  lawn, 
imported  rare  flowers,  trained  peach  and  pear 

76 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

trees  flat  against  sunny  walls,  and  were  ex- 
perimenting with  the  taming  of  fox-grapes 
and  the  wild  berries  of  the  forest. 

"Mrs.  Blennerhasset  just  loves  Aunt  Mary 
and  she  hates  everything  mean  and  cruel. 
One  day,  in  Muskingum  Street,  she  struck  a 
man  across  the  face  with  her  riding-whip  for 
beating  a  little  colored  boy.  Then  she  wiped 
the  whip  with  her  lace  handkerchief  and  rode 
away  as  scornful  as  a  queen." 

"That  was  fine!" 

"And,  Johnny,  she  does  the  kindest,  sweet- 
est things  that  no  one  else  can  do.  She's  to 
give  a  May  party  just  to  amuse  people.  I'm 
to  be  queen.  She's  making  me  an  Empire 
gown  of  India  muslin  and  a  stockinet  veil 
that  I'm  to  keep  for  my  wedding-day."  She 
blushed  prettily.  "You  know  I'm  fourteen. 
At  sixteen  I  shall  have  to  marry  some  one ' ' — 
her  blue  eyes  clouded  with  trouble — "and 
perhaps  go  away  back  in  the  woods  to  live, 
and—" 

She  caught  his  look  of  brooding  tenderness 
for  one  of  those  pioneer  mothers,  of  whom 
life  took  such  fearful  toll  in  child-bearing, 
hardship  and  danger. 

"Oh,  I  won't  mind  the  work,  and  I'd  love 

77 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

to  have  a  dozen  little  bits  of  babies;  but 
there's  sure  to  be  another  Indian  war,  and 
Johnny,  I  couldn't  bear  to — to  leave  little 
children  as  my  mother  left  me." 

"I'll  look  after  those  babies,  Betty.  The 
Indians  are  friendly  with  me,"  he  said,  with 
grave  gentleness.  She  had  taken  in  these 
fears  with  the  milk  from  a  martyred  mother's 
breast,  and  they  were  not  groundless,  even 
now. 

She  watched  him  wistfully  as  he  pushed 
off,  waved  to  him  from  the  bluff,  and  con- 
tinued to  wave  until  his  canoe  passed  Fort 
Harmer  and  disappeared  under  the  arching 
sycamores  that  all  but  hid  the  mouth  of  the 
Muskingum. 

The  River  Beautiful  was  a  silver  veil,  fall- 
ing from  some  unmarked  horizon  in  the  east; 
but  when  the  sun  came  up  over  the  mountains 
it  was  a  narrow  sea  that  was  all  one  wrinkled 
sparkle  from  shore  to  shore.  The  world  was 
merry  and  sweet,  with  dancing  water,  high- 
flying clouds,  and  the  blowing  foliage  of  full- 
leafed  forests.  Johnny  had  only  to  use  his 
paddle  for  a  rudder,  for  the  light  craft  floated 
like  a  cork  on  the  current. 

From  the  Ohio  shore  the  land  rolled  up  in 

78 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

soft,  wooded  billows.  For  miles  the  water 
was  edged  with  sand  or  pebbled  beaches,  and 
in  places  the  forest  was  pushed  back  by  al- 
luvial bottoms.  Ten  miles  down  he  passed 
the  cluster  of  cabins  at  Stone's  Landing,  and 
from  the  many  boats  headed  up-stream  and 
the  people  wTho  were  riding  along  the  edge  of 
the  woods  he  knew  there  must  be  clearings 
up  the  creeks.  It  was  still  in  the  early  hours 
of  the  morning  when  he  ran  his  boat  up  the 
crescent  sand  beach  of  Belpre,  the  very  pret- 
tiest little  settlement  on  the  river. 

An  offshoot  of  Puritan  Marietta,  it  had  a 
French  name  for  its  wide,  terraced  meadow; 
and  it  was  built  like  a  French  farm  village — 
every  good  house  of  hewn  timbers  facing  the 
river  on  a  forty-rod  front,  and  the  narrow 
farms  marching  in  line  back  and  up  to  a 
forest  of  oaks  and  hickories.  At  the  east  end 
of  the  mile-long  street  the  stockade  and  block- 
houses of  Farmers'  Castle  guarded  the  town 
like  a  baron's  chateau,  and  at  the  west  the 
woods  ran  to  the  river's  edge,  where  a  grove 
of  cedars  crowned  a  hundred-foot  bluff. 
Johnny  marked  that  dry  lookout  for  a 
camp. 

The  landing  for  the  settlement  and  the 

79 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

crossing  to  the  head  of  Isle  le  Beau  was  at 
the  foot  of  the  bluff.  From  there  he  saw  the 
white,  mansard-roofed  mansion,  its  colon- 
naded wings  curving  in  a  wide  ellipse  at  the 
top  of  a  sloping  lawn  that  was  shaded  by  a 
score  of  forest  trees.  Fronting  the  near 
mountains  and  the  parted  flood,  and  flanked 
by  all  but  unbroken  woods,  its  ordered  beauty 
was  nothing  less  than  that  of  a  fairy  palace. 

The  town  looked  to  be  deserted,  but  as 
Johnny  was  beaching  the  canoe  a  muscular 
man  of  fifty,  with  the  fine  military  bearing 
so  common  in  the  region,  came  out  of  a  house 
and  introduced  himself  as  Colonel  Cushing 
with  the  ease  of  one  born  to  the  best  society 
of  New  England. 

"I  was  to  leave  this  canoe  with  you  for 
Black  Arrow,  a  Shawnee  brave  who  will  call 
for  it,"  Johnny  explained. 

Together  they  got  the  handsome  specimen 
of  Indian  craftsmanship  into  the  boat-house. 
With  keen  black  eyes  the  Colonel  studied 
this  worn  and  shabby  young  man  who  had 
been  intrusted  with  such  valuable  property 
by  an  Indian.  It  was  not  until  Johnny  asked 
if  there  was  a  bit  of  unoccupied  and  de- 
fensible land  near  by,  in  which  he  might  plant 

80 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

a  nursery  for  the  community,  that  he  was 
recognized. 

"Whoop -ee!  If  it  isn't  Johnny!  Ex- 
cuse me  if  I  shake  your  arm  off.  You're  the 
best  news  we've  heard  since  the  treaty  of 


REAR   VIEW   OF    BLENXERHASSET   HOUSE 

Greenville.  Colonel  Israel  Putnam  and  Mr. 
Blennerhasset  meant  to  kidnap  you  from 
Marietta  to-day.  We  have  plots  cleared  for 
you,  here  and  on  the  island,  and  fenced  in 
according  to  instructions  from  Dr.  True." 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Johnny  filled  his  pockets  with  seeds,  shoul- 
dered his  tools,  and  was  making  off  through 
a  kitchen  garden  when  his  host  overtook  him 
with  a  pair  of  huge,  cowhide  boots. 

"Snakes  in  a  swamp  you  have  to  cross — 
big,  bad  rattlers  and  copperheads  that  could 
take  bites  out  of  a  scythe.  You'd  better 
wrap  your  legs  with  marsh-grass,  too.  I'll 
blow  the  dinner-horn,  but  it's  pot-luck  to- 
day, with  your  humble  servant  for  cook. 
The  family  piled  into  boats  and  on  to  every- 
thing with  four  legs,  and  went  to  the  launch- 
ing. Yes,  I  have  a  full  quiver,  God  bless 
'em!  and  a  boy  and  a  girl  orphaned  by  the 
war  that  we  are  bringing  up.  There's  always 
room  for  one  or  two  more  in  a  big  family." 

It  was  a  dozen  years  before  that  "room  for 
one  or  two  more"  had  any  personal  bearing 
for  Johnny,  but  he  remarked  now  how  the 
people  here  obeyed  the  Biblical  injunction 
concerning  the  hungry  and  naked,  the  sick 
and  the  fatherless.     The  Colonel  laughed. 

"I'll  get  my  pay  out  of  you,  Johnny,  the 
first  time  I  see  my  youngsters  set  their  little 
teeth  in  juicy  apples.  The  children  born  out 
here  never  saw  an  apple,  and  that's  some- 
thing you  can't  describe." 

82 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

"No." 

They  exchanged  a  long  look  that  held  boy- 
hood memories  of  gnarly  old  New  England 
orchards  and  the  winey  bins  of  dark  cellars. 

Johnny  went  whistling  up  that  sloping  mile 
of  mellow  furrows  and  through  a  belt  of  woods 
that  was  honey-sweet  with  blossoming  tulip- 
trees.  Blackbirds  skurried  up  from  the  rank 
growth  of  the  swamp  that  was  knee-deep  in 
ooze,  and  blue  heron  swung  low  over  acres 
of  budding  flags  and  lily-pads.  He  saw  no 
reptiles,  but  while  he  was  putting  in  his  seeds 
on  the  drained  and  sheltered  bank,  a  doe 
came  down  to  a  spring  to  drink  and  an  In- 
dian paddled  out  to  open  water  to  shoot 
ducks.  In  the  five  years  since  the  close  of 
the  war  the  river  settlements  had  not  been 
able  to  push  back  the  wilderness  more  than 
two  miles. 

After  dinner  Johnny  started  to  return  to 
Stone's  Landing.  He  had  scarcely  passed 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  forest  when  he 
heard  a  piteous  whinnying  from  the  way- 
side. A  horse  lay  there  in  the  undergrowlh, 
his  head  in  a  little  space  of  cropped  clover. 

By  dint  of  much  encouragement  Johnny 
got  the  animal  to  his  feet  and  down  the  bank 

83 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

into  the  water.  But  after  the  horse  had 
drunk  he  stood  so  drooping  and  trembling, 
lifting  one  foot  after  the  other,  that  Johnny, 
fearing  he  might  fall  and  drown,  got  him  back 
to  the  sand.  Help  was  needed,  but  his  shouts 
were  not  heard  in  Belpre.  He  was  standing 
at  the  horse's  head  when  the  gay  cavalcade 
came  riding  down  from  Marietta  under  the 
green  foliage  of  the  woods. 

Mrs.  Blennerhasset,  in  naming  habit  and 
plumed  hat  of  white  beaver,  was  in  front  with 
her  husband,  and  a  negro  groom  in  livery, 
and  the  youth  of  Belpre  followed  in  her  train. 
With  her  beauty  and  her  high-bred  grace  and 
charm  she  might  have  appeared  so  among  the 
canvases  of  a  castle  gallery  or  in  the  pages 
of  old  romance.  She  knew  Johnny  at  once. 
Dropping  from  the  saddle,  she  ran  across  the 
beach  and  gave  her  hand  and  the  smile  that 
won  all  hearts. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  Her  black-lashed 
blue  eyes  looked  straight  into  his,  and,  seeing 
the  pity  and  perplexity  there,  she  turned  and 
stroked  the  horse's  nose  with  her  gauntleted 
hand. 

Johnny's  jaw  was  set  and  he  swallowed  hard. 
"He  has  cast  his  shoes  and  been  overdriven. 

84 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

The  heels  are  cracked,  and  the  tendons  so 
sore  that —  I  think  he  has  been  beaten 
across  the  legs,  and  when  he  dropped  he  was 
left  in  the  woods  to  starve." 


MRS.   BLENNERHASSET    IN    FLAMING    HABIT  AND    PLUMED  HAT   OF 

WHITE    BEAVER 

She  flung  her  arms  around  the  horse's  neck. 
"The  man  who  did  this  should  be  found  and 
tied  to  the  whipping-post  in  Marietta." 

8< 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  him,  Margaret. 
These  poor  devils  of  emigrants  are  in  desper- 
ate plights  sometimes."  In  his  buff  small- 
clothes and  silk  stockings  Mr.  Blennerhasset 
was  down  in  the  sand  beside  the  groom.  The 
love  of  domestic  animals  and  the  intelligent 
care  of  them  were  in  the  blood  of  this  Irish 
gentleman.  He  remarked  the  slender  legs 
and  neck  and  fine  coat  of  the  saddle-horse. 
"Yes,"  he  replied  to  his  wife's  appeal,  "we'll 
get  him  over  to  the  island.  Send  the  poleman 
back  with  the  ferry.  Ransom,  go  out  and 
help  Johnny  hold  up  that  horse." 

The  suffering  animal  had  hobbled  back  into 
the  water  for  the  grateful  coolness  about  his 
feet.  Johnny  and  the  negro  stood  at  his 
head  on  either  side  and  Mr.  Blennerhasset 
fed  him  with  handsful  of  forage  from  the 
woods. 

They  were  there  when  the  St.  Clair  went 
by,  scudding  over  the  white-capped  waves. 
It  had  a  cargo,  not  only  of  flour  and  pork  for 
New  Orleans  or  Havana,  but  of  hopes.  The 
river  would  never  see  those  homespun  sails 
of  flax  and  hemp  again,  for  the  vessel  could 
not  be  brought  back,  and  months  must  pass 
before   this   doughty    Commodore   Whipple, 

86 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

who  had  sunk  the  Gaspe  in  '72,  could  return 
over  the  mountains  with  the  proceeds  of  the 
St.  Clair's  sale  in  Philadelphia.  So  every 
sort  of  water  craft  known  on  Western  waters 
was  in  its  escort  down  to  Louisville,  where 
hearts  would  stand  still  until  it  was  safely 
warped  over  the  falls.  Now  it  was  ringed 
about  with  the  music  of  Revolutionary  fifes 
and  drums,  boat  bugles,  and  French  violins. 

When  the  pageant  had  gone  by,  the  silence 
of  the  wilderness  fell  again — a  stillness  that 
was  woven  through  and  through  with  water 
ripple  and  leaf  rustle,  then  the  song  of  a 
wood-thrush,  wild  and  sweet. 

It  was  an  hour  before  the  horse  was  got 
over  to  the  island  and  into  a  grassy  paddock 
in  the  pasture.  There  he  was  groomed,  and 
bedded  on  bright  straw,  with  his  feet  cleaned 
and  poulticed  and  his  legs  bandaged.  His 
bay  coat  shone  in  the  sun,  and  he  had  his 
head  up,  giving  promise  of  a  beautiful  arch 
to  the  neck,  when  Mrs.  Blennerhasset  ap- 
peared at  the  bars  with  her  brood  of  sturdy 
little  children.  They  were  all  in  the  rough 
,garb  of  the  country,  ready  for  a  tramp. 

"You  will  have  a  fine,  gentle  horse,  Johnny, 
when  he  is  cured  of  his  lameness,"  she  said. 
7  87 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

"No,  he  is  yours.  A  horse  like  that  could 
not  go  where  I  am  going." 

"What  he  needs  is  a  tough  little  Indian 
pony  that  can  scramble  over  these  murderous 
hills  like  a  goat  and  live  on  underbrush,' '  Mr. 
Blennerhasset  observed.  Neither  of  them 
knew  that  Johnny  had  not  a  penny  in  the 
world,  and  to  him  the  fact  was  immaterial. 

They  all  went  to  the  open  glade  in  the  forest, 
where  a  plot  had  been  prepared  for  his  plant- 
ing. The  place  was  girdled  with  enormous 
trees,  draped  with  woodbines  and  honey- 
suckles, and  the  sunny  close,  open  to  the  sky, 
was  musical  with  bird  song.  Isle  le  Beau  lay 
in  the  track  of  travel  of  birds  and  men.  The 
red  tribes  and  the  feathered  made  their  sea- 
sonal journeys  over  the  river  and  up  and 
down  the  western  base  of  the  mountains. 
The  trail  known  as  "The  Bloody  Way," 
which  ran  unbroken  from  Lake  Erie  to  the 
Gulf,  crossed  the  Ohio  at  Belpre.  Indians 
were  always  passing  the  head  of  the  island, 
but  they  seldom  stopped,  because  there  was 
no  large  game  for  the  hunter.  So  this  green 
canoe  of  land,  moored  in  the  flood,  had  be- 
come an  island  of  refuge  for  everything 
small    and    defenseless.      Mr.   Blennerhasset 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

told  these  things  to  Johnny  as  he  worked, 
and  added: 

"When  war  comes,  your  nursery  at  Belpre 
may  be  destroyed,  but  this  is  not  likely  to  be 
molested." 

Johnny  suddenly  stood  up.  "You  think 
there  will  be  war?" 

Mr.  Blennerhasset  shrugged  his  shoulders 
in  the  old  shooting- jacket  in  which  he  felt 
most  comfortable.  "Nothing  is  being  done 
to  prevent  it.  When  the  game  is  gone  and 
we  begin  to  crowd  the  Indians  there  will  be 
trouble.  We  should  be  trying  to  understand 
their  difficulties  and  to  help  them.  A  few 
of  their  leaders  are  educated  and  far-seeing 
men.  As  a  boy  Logan,  the  young  chief  of  the 
Shawnees  at  Piqua,  was  a  hostage  in  the  home 
of  Captain  Logan  of  Kentucky,  and  was 
brought  up  with  the  sons  of  the  house.  He  is 
living  in  a  good  cabin  and  cultivating  a  farm 
— trying  to  get  his  own  tribe  and  others  to 
adopt  the  white  man's  wTay  of  living.  When 
war  comes  who  could  estimate  the  human 
value  of  one  civilized  and  prosperous  tribe  on 
the  border?  Logan  is  working  against  tre- 
mendous odds,  and  his  time  is  limited.  He 
needs  help." 

89 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

"He  shall  have  it." 

Johnny  felt  himself  and  his  mission  swept 
into  the  stream  of  large  and  tragic  events. 
His  host  reminded  him  that  white  men  went 
into  the  Indian  country  at  their  own  risk. 
Arrangements  could  be  made  for  him  to  meet 
Logan  on  the  river.  He  came  down  to  Ma- 
rietta and  Belpre  every  year,  at  uncertain 
times,  to  learn  what  he  could  of  building, 
farming  and  stock-raising. 

Johnny  shook  his  head.  His  own  move- 
ments would  be  uncertain,  and  he  could  wait 
on  no  man.  He  would  seek  the  Indians  in 
their  own  territory.  Mrs.  Blennerhasset  sud- 
denly flung  out  her  hands  in  protest. 

"You  would  perish,  and  we  cannot  spare 
you."  Then  her  proud  head,  with  its  coronet 
of  chestnut  braids,  went  up.  She  had  soldier 
blood  in  her  to  meet  undaunted  the  incredible 
misfortune  which  waited  in  her  future.  Be- 
cause of  their  idealism,  generosity  and  trust 
in  their  friends,  the  Blennerhassets  were  in- 
volved to  their  ruin  in  the  traitorous  schem- 
ing of  Aaron  Burr.  "But  it  is  worth  dying 
for.  This  concerns  all  the  Northwest  Terri- 
tory. And  remember,  Johnny,  here  is  your 
island  of  refuge  from  every  mischance  of  life." 

90 


QUEEN    OF    THE    FAIRY    ISLAND 

After  that  it  was  so  still  in  the  sunny  glade 
that  the  birds,  thinking  themselves  alone, 
burst  into  song.  Johnny  remarked,  pres- 
ently : 

"  There  will  be  trees  here  not  worth  trans- 
planting. We  can  leave  them  to  make  a  grove 
of  wild  apples  for  the  birds." 

"Harman,  I  sometimes  think  there  are  such 
groves  in  heaven."  The  emphasis  was  on  the 
"are,"  as  if  the  subject  had  been  discussed 
before. 

Johnny  looked  up  in  quick  sympathy  with 
the  thought,  to  see  Mr.  Blennerhasset  shake 
a  playful  finger  at  his  wife. 

"You've  been  reading  that  fantastic  vis- 
ionary,  Swedenborg,  again,   Margaret." 

She  admitted  it  with  a  smile  of  pensive 
sweetness.  They  stood  there  hand  in  hand, 
breathing  the  incense  of  the  wood  and  listen- 
ing to  Johnny  talking  to  the  children  about 
tucking  the  seeds  in  soft,  warm  beds  as 
though  they  were  babies.  Dominic,  the  lit- 
tle son  and  heir  of  the  house,  was  cuddling  a 
seed  in  his  brown  hand. 

"May  I  keep  this  one,  Johnny?" 

"To  plant?" 

"No.     I  want  to  see  the  little  tree  in  it." 

91 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"You  can't  see  it.     It's  too  small." 

Johnny  had  found  the  germs  and  watched 
the  wonderful  processes  of  germination  in  the 
larger  seeds  of  field  and  garden,  but  the  apple- 
seed  with  its  tough  case  and  tiny  seed-leaves 
had  baffled  him. 

"It  can  be  seen  under  the  solar  micro- 
scope, ' '  Mr.  Blennerhasset  assured  him.  Then, 
humorously:  "Don't  be  alarmed  at  the  wis- 
dom of  my  young  hopefuls.  I've  forgotten 
all  I  knew  at  their  age,  and  am  having  to 
begin  with  them  where  I  left  off." 

It  was  in  the  little  laboratory,  set  up  in  an 
alcove  of  a  library  of  belles-lettres  by  this  grad- 
uate from  Dublin  University,  who  had  a  bent 
for  the  natural  sciences,  that  Johnny  split 
the  brown  shell,  parted  the  seed-leaves  on  a 
piercing  needle,  and  fixed  the  seed  under  the 
magic  lens.  There,  hidden  away  in  its  in- 
most heart,  was  the  spark  of  life  breathed  in 
by  the  Creator— the  pearly  dot  that  held  the 
impulse,  the  longing,  to  burst  its  bonds  and 
lift  itself  up  to  sun  and  rain  and  bird  song, 
and  realize  itself  in  blossom,  fruit  and  ripened 

seed. 

To  Johnny  it  was  the  soul  of  the  apple- 
tree.     He  could  not  talk  about  it.     He  had 

92 


QUEEN  OF  THE  FAIRY  ISLAND 

meant  to  stop  at  Isle  le  Beau  for  the  night, 
but  a  home-seeker's  flatboat  tied  up  at  Bel- 
pre  would  be  off  at  sunrise,  and  on  that  he 
hoped  he  could  arrange  to  work  his  passage 
down  to  the  French  grant  at  Galliopolis. 
So  he  asked  to  be  set  across  at  once.  Mrs. 
Blennerhasset  ran  down  to  the  landing  with 
the  gift  of  a  pocket  compass  and  a  book  that 
he  could  carry  in  his  food -pouch  with  his 
Bible. 

"This  will  interest  you,  Johnny.  It  was 
written  by  a  great  natural  scientist  who  came 
so  to  know  and  reverence  animal  and  plant 
life  that  he  made  a  new  kind  of  heaven  to 
take  in  all  we  love  on  earth." 

It  was  six  weeks  before  he  returned  from 
the  West  for  the  portion  of  the  seeds  that  he 
had  left  with  Colonel  Cushing.  Bit  by  bit, 
by  fire  or  candle  light,  or  in  brief  intervals  of 
rest,  he  had  read  the  burning  message  of  the 
little  book — Swedenborg's  Heaven  and  Hell. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  to  realize  that  the 
brotherhood  of  man  with  the  lower  orders, 
which  is  a  part  of  the  moral  law  of  to-day, 
was  the  new,  religious  doctrine  of  a  century 
ago.  To  people  of  the  gentle  feeling  and  cul- 
tivated mind  of  Mrs.  Blennerhasset   it   had 

93 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

its  poetic  and  humane  appeal  without  dis- 
turbing orthodoxy.  But  to  many  it  was 
nothing  less  than  a  divine  revelation,  and  a 
few  like  Johnny  accepted  it  as  the  only  rule 
of  life.  Loving  all  living  things  as  he  did, 
it  was  easy  for  him  to  see,  in  every  flower  and 
bird,  creeping  worm  and  aspiring  tree,  the 
Indwelling  Spirit,  and  to  see  them  all,  in 
death,  translated  to  the  skies  in  supernal 
beauty  and  dwelling  with  angels  in  the  Gar- 
den of  God.  There  it  was,  the  faith  that,  in 
every  age  and  clime,  and  for  countless 
creeds,  has  fired  the  souls  of  men  to  do  im- 
possible and  imperishable  deeds. 

It  was  a  waste  of  time  and  energy  to  com- 
bat opposition,  so  he  said  nothing  of  his  in- 
tentions. Supper  had  been  eaten  at  the  long 
and  laden  board,  where  there  was  "room 
for  one  or  two  more,''  when  Colonel  Cush- 
ing  began  to  talk  of  the  earliest  years  of 
Belpre. 

"One  winter  we  had  famine,  pestilence  and 
savage  war.  Shut  up  in  Farmers'  Castle  we 
lived  on  fish  without  salt;  then  on  maple- 
sap  porridge  and  boiled  nettles.  The  dogs 
that  lived  through  it  ate  green  corn  when 
it  came  in.     It's  as  bad  as  that  to-day,  in 

94 


QUEEN  OF  THE  FAIRY  ISLAND 

the  back  clearings,  when  a  man  has  a  crop 
failure  and  gets  out  of  ammunition." 

He  gave  Johnny  a  hunter's  homespun  suit, 
dyed  forest  green  for  greater  safety  in  sum- 
mer, and  a  package  of  warrior's  bread — 
parched  corn  meal  and  maple  sugar — for 
emergencies,  and  cautioned  him: 

"Take  plenty  of  powder  and  shot,  Johnny. 
There  are  more  wildcats  than  cabins  in  these 
woods,  and  very  little  to  eat  except  what  runs 
or  flies." 

It  was  late  when  he  went  up  on  the  bluff 
to  camp  under  the  cedars,  between  the  river's 
murmuring  flow  and  the  silent  stream  of  stars 
in  the  sky,  and  to  take  counsel  of  his  soul.  In 
the  tender  light  of  a  half-moon  of  pearl  the 
shadows  of  the  bare  tree-trunks  had  the 
density  of  black  velvet  on  the  dry  and  odor- 
ous bed  of  needles.  Once  a  keel-boat  went 
by,  its  long  shape  slipping  through  the  silver 
current  like  a  swimming  otter.  From  the 
next  bend  below  the  note  of  its  bugle  came 
back,  mellowed  by  distance  and  darkness  into 
some  ineffable  call.  Uplifted,  Johnny  lay  in 
a  shining  solitude  and  peace  that  was  like  a 
benediction  on  his  purpose. 

The  sun  was  on  the  water  and  the  dew  on 

95 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

the  lawn  when  he  rowed  across  to  Isle  le  Beau. 
The  house  was  as  silent  as  the  palace  of  the 
Sleeping  Beauty.  No  one  was  in  the  French 
drawing-room,  nor  in  the  wainscoted  hall, 
with  its  fireplace  filled  with  feathery  greens, 
its  gun-rack  and  antlered  heads.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  master  and  mistress  would  descend 
to  the  breakfast-room,  which  was  open  to 
the  fresh  June  morning,  and  happy  children 
would  come  sliding  down  the  only  broad 
banister  in  the  Northwest  Territory.  Mrs. 
Blennerhasset's  garden  hat  and  gloves,  rose- 
basket  and  shears,  were  on  the  hall  table. 
Johnny  left  his  gun  beside  them,  and  a  note 
in  the  basket: 

You  will  understand  that  I  can  no  longer  kill  my 
little  brothers  of  the  earth  and  air.  Thank  you  for 
this  news  straight  from  Heaven. 

In  the  cedar  grove  he  changed  to  the  green 
suit,  and  on  the  edge  of  the  bluff  he  shouldered 
his  tools  and  lightened  pack.  Looking  across 
to  the  island,  he  saw  Mrs.  Blennerhasset  run- 
ning down  the  lawn  to  the  landing,  as  if  she 
must  overtake  him.  Waving  his  hat  to  the 
blowing  white  draperies  at  the  head  of  Isle 
le  Beau,  Johnny  was  gone,  defenseless,  into 
the  wilds. 


V 

ON  "the  bloody  way" 

]HE  region  that  lay  between  the 
lower  Muskingum  and  Scioto, 
into  which  Johnny  disappeared, 
was  much  less  wild  than  that 
traversed  by  the  Great  Trail 
_from  Pittsburg  to  Zanesville. 
;;t  had  been  populous  even  in  Indian  days, 
and  had  its  ancient  routes  of  travel.  The 
trail  that  ran  northeast  from  Belpre  to  Big 
Rock,  forty  miles  above  Marietta  and  op- 
posite the  broad  meadow  of  Big  Bottom, 
was  an  important  part  of  "The  Bloody 
Way,"  the  old  warrior's  path  that  ran  from 
Lake  Erie  to  the  Gulf.  Here  red  men  had 
leveled  the  summits  of  the  steepest  hills, 
and  piled  up  embankments  where  a  pony 
might  slip  with  its  rider  into  eternity.  Since 
the  close  of  the  war  white  settlers  had  been 
slowly  widening  "The  Bloody  Way"  into  a 

97 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

wagon-road ;  and  wild  animals  had  long  since 
learned  to  avoid  its  ever-fresh  odors  of  gun- 
powder and  passing  men.  Beside  it  were 
safe  camping-places  that  had  been  used  for 
generations;  and  the  Indians  had  been  care- 
ful, in  their  annual  burning  of  forest  under- 
growth, not  to  destroy  the  fruits  and  nuts 
along  the  trails.  Johnny  found  berries  by 
the  wayside  to  help  out  the  dry  meals  that 
he  ate  on  the  road. 

A  dozen  creeks  that  have  disappeared  to- 
day then  foamed  down  the  declivities,  and 
their  crystal  pools  swarmed  with  fish.  Along 
these  streams  that  were  crossed  by  the  trail 
settlers  had  raised  their  isolated  cabins  on 
the  scattered  patches  of  good  bottom-land. 
Johnny  often  slipped  off  his  moccasins  and 
waded  these  spring  -  fed  waterways  rather 
than  skirt  the  swamps  in  the  hollows,  or 
struggle  through  thickets  of  blossoming  laurel 
on  the  gravel  benches  to  reach  the  infre- 
quent house.  From  any  hilltop  he  could 
mark  the  most  sinuous  course  of  a  creek  by 
the  lines  of  sycamores,  and  locate  a  hidden 
home  by  the  smoke  that  curled  up  through 
the  woods. 

It  was  too  late  in  the  season  to  put  in  seeds 

98 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

— and  too  early.  He  meant  to  make  friends 
and  to  select  sites  for  next  year's  planting; 
to  penetrate  the  marshy  forests  and  sunny 
uplands  of  the  Indian  country  about  the  head- 
waters of  the  Scioto,  and  to  put  in  what  few 
seeds  he  had  left  along  the  route  of  his  return 
to  the  cider-mills  in  the  autumn. 

In  a  land  where  every  man  rode  because  of 
the  unpeopled  distances  to  be  covered,  and 
carried  a  weapon  for  his  safety  and  a  food- 
supply,  it  was  a  startling  thing  to  see  that 
slender  youth  appear  out  of  the  darkening 
woods,  unmounted,  undefended,  his  straw  hat 
filled  with  wild  berries  as  a  welcome  addition 
to  the  evening  meal. 

Until  his  trees  were  in  bearing  he  must  pay 
his  way  by  other  services  in  that  land  of  bit- 
ter toil  and  privation,  so,  in  return  for  food 
and  shelter,  he  lent  a  hand  at  whatever  work 
was  afoot.  Besides,  he  muse  learn  how  to 
do  everything  that  new-comers  and  Indians 
needed  to  know  in  order  to  conquer  their  hard 
circumstances.  He  helped  raise  the  cabins 
of  green  buckeye  logs;  he  took  his  turn  at 
plow  or  scythe  or  ax,  and  beat  out  grain 
with  flails  on  barn  floor  or  buffalo-hide.  He 
brought  in  news  of  every  deer-lick  he  dis- 

99 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

covered,  where  men  might  drive  cattle  that 
were  perishing  for  salt.  In  the  useless  angles 
of  rail  fences  he  started  patches  of  briers, 
for  with  foraging  bears  about  women  and 
children  could  not  go  berrying  along  the 
trails.  He  showed  the  men  how  to  build 
ash-hoppers,  so  the  women  could  make  lye 
hominy  and  soft  soap;  and  one  of  his  self- 
imposed  tasks  was  the  raising  of  hog-pen  walls 
so  high  that  wolves  could  not  get  in. 

And,  oh,  it  seemed  afterward  that  what  was 
remembered  longest  by  boys  and  girls  grown 
tali  was  that  Johnny  taught  them  simple 
games,  invented  rude  toys,  and  told  them 
curious  and  endearing  things  of  the  plant 
and  animal  life  of  the  forest.  This  was  in 
the  fire-lit  evenings  when  they  were  little, 
scared,  wood-imprisoned,  resourceless  children. 
Schools  were  not  yet  possible,  and  even  free- 
dom in  play  was  denied.  In  the  stump-lots 
about  stark  cabins  they  often  had  not  a  tree 
to  shade  their  sunburnt  heads  or  to  support 
a  grape-vine  swing,  and  beyond  the  clear- 
ings little  ones  could  not  go.  There  were 
stories  that  made  faces  go  gray  as  ashes,  of 
exploring  babies  who  had  gone  just  beyond 
corn-fields,  and  then,  where  the  little  foot- 


IOO 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

prints  stopped  in  the  soft  leaf-mold,   there 
were  the  tracks  of  huge  cats — 

When  supper  was  over  and  the  children  in 
bed  Johnny  read  aloud  to  the  elders,  many  of 
whom  were  illiterate.     Resting  his  elbows  on 
the  hearth,  he  read  from  the  Bible  or  the  other 
book.     And  he  told  them  why  and  how  he 
had  come  into  the  wilds  to  plant  orchards. 
The  very  words  awoke  the  happiest  memories 
of  many.      And  what  visions  of  comfort,  what 
feeling  of  greater  security  and   companion- 
ship, he  conjured  by  his  warm,  familiar  talks! 
The  trees  of  the  forest  that  shut  them  in  were 
grand,  but  aloof,  living  for  themselves  alone. 
But  apple-trees  were  tame  and  friendly,  serv- 
ing men  and  dependent  upon  their  care  like 
dogs  and  all  gentle  domestic  animals.     As  if 
yearning  for  the  company  of  the  fireside,  an 
orchard  nestled  about  a  house,  extended  the 
shelter  of  the  roof,  made  the  family  feel  at 
ease  out  of  doors,  pushed  the  wilderness  back. 
People   listening   to   such   talk   looked   with 
something  like  awe  upon  his  young  face  of 
high  courage,   religious  fervor,   and  burning 
desire  to   serve  them  in  this  practical  but 
poetic  way. 

It  was   a  wonderful  thing  for  a  pioneer 

IOI 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

family,  that  had  all  but  lost  its  social  instinct 
and  capacity  for  pleasure,  to  stop  toil  for 
the  day  and  range  the  summer  woods  with 
Johnny,  to  search  out  some  lovely,  guarded 
nook  in  which  he  could  hide  and  defend  a 
nursery.  In  hearts  benumbed  the  hope  was 
revived  that  life  might  be  lifted  above  this 
lonely  and  sordid  struggle — the  burden  be 
lightened  by  brotherly  love  such  as  this. 

The  country  was  still  very  thinly  settled, 
the  clearings  few  and  miles  apart,  but  he  was 
directed  from  one  cabin  to  the  next,  and  sel- 
dom lacked  food  and  shelter  at  night.  And 
when  his  moccasins  were  worn  out  they  were 
replaced  by  cowhide  boots  of  a  farmer's 
rough  cobbling,  and  his  linsey  shirt  by  an- 
other of  some  woman's  weaving.  Gaunt 
pioneers  wrung  his  hand  at  parting  and  pro- 
tested at  his  refusal  of  a  spare  gun.  Women 
washed  his  clothes,  refilled  his  food-pouch, 
and  watched  and  waved  from  doorways  until 
he  had  disappeared.  Children  followed  him 
to  the  very  edges  of  clearings,  climbed  to  the 
tops  of  rail  fences,  and  cried  after  him: 
"  Good-by,  Johnny.  You'll  come  back?" 
"Oh  yes,  I'll  come  back  next  spring.  Good- 
by,  good-by!" 

102 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

The  confident  smile  made  every  one  be- 
lieve it  until  he  was  gone.  But  afterward, 
whenever  the  howling  of  wolves  or  the  foot- 
falls of  panthers  on  clapboarded  roofs  made 
men  rise  in  the  night  to  replenish  fires,  women 
lay  wide-eyed  in  the  dark  and  thought  of 
Johnny. 

At  Big  Rock,  opposite  Big  Bottom,  he 
struck  the  Muskingum  Trail.  On  this  he 
continued  along  the  west  bank  of  the  river 
up  to  the  Great  Crossing.  Here  there  was  a 
junction  of  trails  that  shot  out  across  the 
wooded  highlands  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel. 
To  the  north  and  west  were  main-traveled 
roads  which  led  to  the  valleys  of  the  Cuyahoga 
and  the  Scioto;  but  he  turned,  instead,  into 
a  narrow  trace  that  ran  northwestward  for 
one  hundred  miles  to  a  Shawnee  village  below 
Sandusky. 

As  this  was  only  a  hunters  bridle-path 
the  clearings  disappeared  at  once.  He  was 
obliged  now  to  camp  in  some  cave-like  exca- 
vation of  a  hillside,  against  the  opening  of  a 
hollow  tree,  or  under  the  natural  tent  of  a  fox- 
grape  vine,  which  he  strengthened  with  stakes 
and  his  coil  of  hemp  rope.  With  protection 
at  the  back,  a  fire  in  front,  and  a  camper's 

8  103 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

elevated  bed  of  posts,  cross-poles  and  pine 
boughs  to  lift  himself  above  creeping  reptiles, 
he  was  safe  enough  even  from  panthers,  whose 
yellow  eyes  often  watched  him  across  the 
flames.  In  summer  wolves  were  not  driven 
by  hunger  and  did  not  hunt  in  packs,  and 
bears  were  intent  upon  keeping  out  of  the 
way  and  finding  food  for  their  cubs. 

Orchards  would  not  be  needed  in  this  region 
for  years,  so  Johnny  traveled  fast.  He  found 
the  world  a  simpler  place  to  live  in  since  it  was 
stripped  of  anxieties  and  fears.  If  he  could 
not  kill  animals  of  evil  intentions,  he  could 
at  least  avoid  them  and  give  them  no  cause 
for  offense.  And  in  solitude  he  was  no  long- 
er lonely.  Trees  had  become  to  him  sen- 
tient and  beneficent  things,  drawing  their  life 
from  the  same  mother  earth  that  supported 
himself,  and  reaching  up  with  love  and  trust 
to  the  same  kind  sky.  So,  although  birds 
flitted  about  in  shabby  coats,  silent  and  un- 
seen, and  animals  fed  in  secret  places  on 
nature's  abundance,  he  was  companioned  on 
the  day  march  and  the  night  watch  by  the 
trees,  statuesque  and  serene. 

Every  hour  brought  its  thrill  of  fresh  won- 
der.    The  climate  of  Ohio  a  hundred  years 

104 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

ago  had  no  such  extremes  as  it  has  to-day,  or 
as  Johnny  experienced  before  his  task  was 
done.  Winter  frosts  and  gales,  and  summer 
suns,  were  tempered  by  the  forests,  and  snow 
sank  deep  to  bubble  up  in  springs.  Even  in 
August  there  were  cooling  showers  almost 
daily,  and  the  ground,  lush  with  greenery, 
was  never  quite  dry  except  along  the  wind- 
swept ridges.  And  from  storm  there  was  shel- 
ter. In  the  columned  and  canopied  woods 
rain  reached  the  turf  only  by  running  down 
mossy  trunks,  or  after  being  shattered  to  spray 
on  the  leaf -thatching  above.  It  was  sweet  to 
tread  the  valleys  in  the  green  gloom  and  noon- 
day hush  of  the  year — to  splash  across  tum- 
bling brooks,  to  scramble  up  oozy  banks, 
to  mount  the  slopes  of  giant  hardwoods  to 
the  music  of  chuckling  springs,  and  to  come 
up,  at  last,  into  a  grove  of  oaks  and  pines 
and  look  out  over  an  emerald  sea  of  trees. 

Long  before  he  reached  the  Indian  country 
his  last  bit  of  dry  food  was  gone.  Bears  were 
in  every  blackberry  thicket  and  declined  to 
share  their  feast.  Some  days  he  found  nothing 
to  eat  besides  half -ripe  plums,  and  wild  oats 
in  patches  that  were  full  of  the  soft  whistling 
of  quail.     He  had  difficulty  in  locating  safe 

105 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

camping-places  and,  foot-sore  and  half  fam- 
ished, made  slow  progress  up  and  down  the 
interminable  hills. 

One  night  he  found  shelter  in  a  salt-maker's 
camp,  where  a  brine  well  had  been  sunk 
through  an  old  deer-lick.  The  iron  kettles, 
bubbling  under  a  rude  shed,  the  smoke  and 
steam  and  noxious  odors,  and  the  unkempt 
workers  who  slept  by  shifts  in  a  cave  and 
lived  almost  wholly  by  the  chase,  made  a 
mythical  labor  of  punishment.  But  with  salt 
eight  dollars  a  bushel  and  all  but  unobtain- 
able, no  work  of  the  backwoods  was  more 
necessary  or  truly  heroic,  and  Johnny  was 
glad  to  hear  that  a  better  field  had  been 
found  down  on  the  Scioto.  There  these  men 
could  have  their  families,  build  up  a  farm  vil- 
lage, and  live  like  human  beings.  He  made 
a  note  of  the  new  location  to  which  they 
intended  to  move  in  the  spring,  and  prom- 
ised to  put  in  a  nursery  there.  But  from  a 
place  that  reeked  with  slaughter  he  departed 
hungry. 

As  he  neared  the  top  of  the  watershed  the 
undulations  of  the  land  became  broader  and 
shallower.  But  traveling  was  not  easier,  for 
large  rivers  had  their  head-waters  in  the  lakes 

106 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

and  streams  that  spread  and  wandered  over 
wide,  marshy  valleys. 

It  was  near  sunset  one  day  when  he  saw  in 
such  a  wet,  wooded  depression  a  cabin  that 
had  seemingly  been  abandoned  before  it  was 
finished.  A  skin  curtain  flapped  in  the  open- 
ing, but  there  was  no  smoke  from  the  stick- 
and-clay  chimney  which  stopped  short  of  the 
ridge-pole  in  a  hole  that  a  wolf  could  leap 
through.  But  corn  had  been  planted,  and 
here  was  food  if  bears  had  not  stripped  the 
stalks  of  ears.  So  near  starvation  that  he 
staggered  as  he  ran,  Johnny  splashed  up  the 
creek-bed  and  skirted  the  swamp  below  the 
clearing. 

A  woman  whose  hair  blew  loose  about  a  dis- 
tracted face  was  crouched  with  a  frightened 
child  in  the  darkest  corner  of  a  hovel  that  was 
a  trap  rather  than  a  shelter.  She  had  screamed 
and  fled  when  she  heard  the  running  man, 
but  when  she  saw  Johnny's  face  she  sobbed 
out  excuses  in  the  dear,  broken  German  that 
had  welcomed  him  at  many  a  comfortable 
fireside  in  Pennsylvania: 

"All  voods!     It  vas  schust  so  vild  here  I 


1 1 


go  crazy. 

She  sat  there  talking  in  a  dreary  monotone. 

107 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

The  husband  was  a  blacksmith  and  had  no 
farm  or  building  tools,  and  others  who  had 
bought  land  here  had  not  come.  The  house 
furnishings  had  been  lost  by  an  upset  in  a 
stream.  The  cow  had  wandered  away.  The 
baby  had  died.  There  was  a  little  grave — 
heaped  above  her  heart.  Her  husband  had 
gone  to  trade  the  horse  for  meal  and  powder. 
Then  the  fire  had  gone  out  in  the  night  and 
she  could  not  build  another.  There  had  been 
nothing  to  eat  all  day,  but  that  would  not 
matter  if  she  could  just  see  smoke  by  some- 
body's house.     So  lonely!     So  homesick! 

"We'll  have  some  smoke  from  our  house, 
and  that  will  be  more  friendly,"  Johnny  said, 
reassuringly.  He  had  seen  people  in  desper- 
ate situations,  but  no  such  wretchedness  as 
this.  Here  was  a  soul  defeated  and  flickering 
into  darkness. 

He  whistled  a  martial  old  hymn  tune  that 
should  have  put  backbone  into  an  angleworm 
as  he  whittled  shavings  from  a  pine  branch. 
Then  he  poured  a  spoonful  of  the  powder, 
that  he  carried  for  quick  fire  -  building,  on 
the  hearth  and  struck  a  spark  from  flint  and 
steel.  With  a  little  explosion  cheerful  flames 
leaped  up  the  chimney.     The  corn  was  neither 

1 08 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

ripe  nor  in  the  milk,  but  Johnny  set  the  wom- 
an to  scoring  the  hardening  grains  and  press- 
ing out  the  pulp.  Cakes  salted  from  the 
black  and  bitter  lump  given  him  at  the  camp 
were  wrapped  in  husks  and  put  to  bake  in 
hot  ashes.  And  then  the  hovel  was  furnished 
forth  with  the  laughter  of  a  child  and  with 
a  good  woman's  tears — natural  tears,  now — 
that  she  had  nothing  better  to  give  this 
heaven-sent  guest  to  eat. 

It  was  in  the  evening  of  the  next  day  that 
the  husband  and  father  literally  fell  into  the 
cabin  under  the  weight  of  a  hundred  pounds 
of  meal  that  he  had  carried  forty  miles.  But 
he  had  good  news.  Two  families  were  com- 
ing— farmers.  There  would  be  neighbors,  and 
work  that  he  could  do.  Before  he  slept  he 
began  with  frantic  haste  to  set  up  the  rust- 
ing fittings  of  a  smithy. 

Johnny  did  not  leave  this  place  until  the 
new-comers  were  in  their  half-faced  camps, 
axes  were  ringing  in  the  timber,  and  hinges 
and  cranes  were  being  beaten  out  of  old  horse- 
shoes and  wagon  tires  on  the  anvil.  A  crop 
of  turnips  could  still  be  grown,  nuts  gathered, 
a  bee-tree  felled,  and  forage  cut  in  woodland 
glades.     He  cleared  and  fenced  a  well-drained 

109 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

and  sheltered  slope  for  the  nursery  that  he 
promised  to  plant  six  weeks  later.  It  was 
thus  that  he  helped,  in  the  beginning,  at 
many  a  clearing  or  forlorn  little  settlement 
that  sprang  up  and  lived  precariously  all  along 
the  border  for  the  next  dozen  years,  and  then 
bore  the  first  shock  of  savage  war. 

He  had  not  walked  a  mile  along  the  trace 
before  he  was  aware  of  a  violet  haze  as  of 
Indian  summer.  The  tribes,  he  knew,  did 
not  burn  the  forest  undergrowth  until  the 
windless  days  that  came  after  a  sharp  frost. 
It  was  then  that  they  journeyed  with  the 
creeping  fires,  which  they  herded  carefully,  to 
the  hunting-grounds  in  the  East.  Some  set- 
tler in  the  next  valley  must  be  burning  brush. 
He  turned  back  at  once  to  warn  the  good  peo- 
ple he  had  just  left  not  to  set  the  woods  on 
fire  when  burning  their  brush,  and  not  to  kill 
the  bears  and  deer  as  long  as  they  were  run- 
ning with  their  young.  Those  practices  were 
destructive  of  game  and  serious  offenses  to 
the  Indians.  They  must  keep  the  peace  with 
their  red  neighbors. 

For  two  hours  he  walked  in  growing  appre- 
hension, for  the  western  sky  was  darkening 
with  a  bank  of  drifting  smoke.     This  mingled 

no 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

with  storm-clouds  which  boiled  up  in  the 
southwest  and  spread  a  pall  over  the  forest. 
As  he  topped  a  rise  the  slope  of  burning  trees 
lay  below  him,  beyond  a  wide,  marshy  creek. 
A  man  watched  it  from  the  door  of  a  cabin. 
The  fire  had  been  working  slowly  down  the 
side  of  the  clearing,  in  small  swamp  timber, 
but  now  it  flared  up,  turned  and  raced  with 
the  wind. 

Johnny  ran  down  into  the  water, 'and,  heed- 
less of  what  venomous  things  might  lurk 
there,  struggled  across  the  bog,  tripping  in 
wire-like  tangles  of  wild  pea-vines  and  morn- 
ing-glories. He  shouted  to  the  man  to  shoot 
his  gun  or  blow  a  horn.  The  Shawnee  village 
must  be  near  enough  for  the  Indians  to  hear 
an  alarm.  They  would  run  to  help  put  that 
fire  out  before  it  gained  headway. 

"You  mind  your  own  business!  I  started 
that  fire — easier  than  chopping  down  trees!" 
When  Johnny  stopped,  too  shocked  to  speak, 
he  shouted,  angrily:  "What's  the  matter  with 
you?     Them  trees  are  mine,  ain't  they?" 

"They're  God's  trees!  Look!  You've 
loosed  a  devil  of  destruction  that  no  one  can 
stop!" 

The  fellow  did  turn  pale,  for  the  wind  had 


in 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

whipped  around  and  risen  to  a  gale  that 
swept  the  flames  up  the  hillside  in  a  moan- 
ing sigh.  Forest  giants  shriveled  before  they 
were  engulfed  by  that  billow  of  fire.  On  the 
crest  a  pine-tree  flashed  into  a  torch. 

Then  flying  creatures  made  for  water — 
deer  bounding  away;  a  singed  wolf  running 
and  howling  like  a  tortured  dog;  a  bear 
shambling  out  and  woof-woofing  for  her  cubs. 
Johnny  ran  up  through  the  corn  into  the 
burning  wood  and  headed  the  clumsy,  near- 
grown  babies  toward  their  mother.  Hearing 
cries  of  agony,  smelling  scorching  fur,  seeing 
a  flight  of  wood-pigeons  drop  like  shot  into 
that  furnace,  Johnny  stumbled  out  and  threw 
his  arm  up  to  protect  his  eyes  from  flying 
sparks.  Amid  all  that  horror  he  heard  the 
crack  of  a  rifle.  The  she-bear  lay  dead  on 
the  marsh,  and  the  cubs  turned  back  into 
the  blazing  forest.  The  man  dodged  into  the 
cabin. 

On  the  farther  bank  of  the  creek  a  young 
Indian  brave  who  had  an  eagle  feather  in  his 
beaded  head-band,  but  who  wore  the  green 
shirt  and  buckskin  breeches  of  the  white 
hunter,  stood  with  his  rifle  aimed  at  the  cabin 
door.     As  Johnny  ran  toward  him,  calling  out, 


112 


JOHNNY    SAGGED   FORWARD    ON    THE    PONY    UPON    WHICH 
THE    INDIAN    SET    HIM 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

in  what  little  Shawnese  he  knew,  not  to  do 
murder  and  start  a  border  war,  there  were 
two  reports  almost  together.  Then  the  door 
clattered  shut. 

It  was  the  Indian  who  saw  the  blood  that 
streamed  down  Johnny's  hand.  In  surly  si- 
lence he  cut  away  the  soaked  sleeve  and  knot- 
ted it  above  the  wound  in  the  arm.  Then  he 
rushed  him  up  under  a  beech-tree,  the  safest 
woodland  shelter  in  the  thunder-storm  which 
suddenly  fell  upon  them. 

In  a  half-hour  the  summer  tempest  was 
over.  The  sun  sank  through  banks  of  splen- 
dor, behind  the  ruin  on  the  hillside.  Johnny 
sagged  forward  on  the  pony  upon  which  the 
Indian  set  him  with  his  pack  and  tools,  as 
he  rode  past  the  tract  of  blasted  trees.  And 
he  stood  in  the  Shawnee  village,  when  the 
story  was  told,  involved  in  this  fresh  crime 
of  one  of  his  own  race  against  the  law  of  the 
forest.  This  was  a  different  band  from  the 
one  he  had  met  in  friendly  ways  in  the  East, 
the  faces  all  strange.  Besides  hatred  and  sus- 
picion they  showed  a  frank  contempt  for  this 
ragged  white  stripling  in  whose  thin  face  the 
dark  eyes  shone  unnaturally  large  and  bright. 

The  brave  who  had  brought  him  in  ap- 

114 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

peared  to  be  a  distinguished  visitor  from 
another  tribe.  He  spoke  to  Johnny  briefly 
and  in  as  good  English  as  his  own.  Because 
he  had  had  no  hand  in  that  fire  they  would 
dress  his  wound  and  set  him  in  safety  across 
the  border  in  the  morning.  Seeing  that  he 
had  neither  horse  nor  gun,  he  could  not  have 
far  to  go. 

"That  bullet  was  meant  for  me.  It  must 
be  cut  out." 

Johnny  extended  his  arm  at  once,  and  stood 
as  steady  as  a  rock  while  a  knife  explored  the 
furrow  and  turned  out  the  ball.  The  Indian 
put  the  bullet  in  his  pocket  for  a  future  use 
that  was  unmistakable.  He  watched  Johnny 
curiously  while  the  wound  was  being  washed 
and  the  ragged  edges  trimmed. 

"A  brave  would  burn  it,  and  then  cure  the 
burn." 

Johnny  himself  laid  on  the  searing  -  iron. 
To  the  red  man  the  stoic  endurance  of  torture 
is  the  supreme  test.  When  the  wound  had 
been  spread  with  a  healing  ointment  and 
bandaged,  the  Indian  led  Johnny  to  his  own 
guest-lodge  and  bade  a  squaw  fetch  him  a 
bowl  of  corn  soup. 

Then  at  once  he  seemed  to  forget  that 

115 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

Johnny  was  there.  A  noble  figure  of  a  man, 
he  stood  in  deep  abstraction,  with  his  head 
bent  and  his  fists  clenched  at  his  sides.  After- 
ward Johnny  learned  that  he  was  of  a  his- 
toric line  of  warriors — a  nephew  of  Tecumseh 
and  The  Prophet — but  one  who  led  his  people 
into  the  paths  of  industry  and  peace.  After 
a  time  he  took  the  blood-stained  bullet  from 
his  pocket,  looked  at  it  reflectively  as  if 
weighing  many  things,  and  then  stooped  de- 
liberately and  pushed  it  into  the  earth.  As 
if  relieved  of  that  burden  of  revenge,  the 
whole  iman  relaxed,  and  he  turned  a  grave 
and  not  unfriendly  look  on  Johnny. 

"You  were  right.  He  is  an  evil  man.  But 
it  would  profit  us  nothing  to  kill  him.  We 
must  learn  to  live  like  white  men.  But  give 
us  time — give  us  time!"  His  voice  shook 
with  passion.  "When  I  see  a  white  savage 
like  that  destroying  the  food  and  shelter  of 
my  poor  people  I  am  all  Indian." 

"Logan!"  Johnny  whispered.  "Is  it  Chief 
Logan?" 

After  a  wonderful  hour  he  lay  alone  on  his 
bed  of  soft  skins.  The  flap  of  the  lodge  was 
tied  back.  He  could  see  the  circle  of  braves 
squatted   about   the   council   fire,  and  hear 

116 


ON    "THE    BLOODY   WAY 

Logan's  pica  for  his  mission  of  love,  which 
was  meant  to  help  lift  the  red  tribes  above 
the  tragic  chances  of  the  chase.  At  midnight 
the  young  chief  lay  down  beside  him,  threw 
his  arm  across,  and  in  the  darkness  and  si- 
lence spoke  the  eloquent  word: 
"Brother!" 

Johnny's  arm  was  still  useless,  and  Logan 
had  gone  back  to  Piqua  with  a  buckskin  pouch 
of  apple-seeds  and  minute  instructions  con- 
cerning them,  when  he  put  in  the  first  of  the 
few  nurseries  that  he  was  encouraged  to  plant 
in  the  Indian  country.     It  was  in  a  little  hol- 
low of  the  hills  which  was  full  of  the  burning 
bushes  of  sumach  and  the  flickering  fires  of 
sassafras.     Squaws  cleared  and  broke  up  the 
ground  and  wove  the  stout  barrier  across  the 
open  side,  and  papooses  carried  his  tools  and 
seeds,  and  fetched  kettles  of  water.     They  all 
promised  to  watch  in  the  spring  for  the  rows 
of  bright-barked  twigs,  and  to  keep  the  soil 
loose  and  free  from  weeds  until  his  return. 

He  journeyed  eastward  with  the  hunters. 
From  every  height  the  autumn  landscape 
rolled  away  in  colors  of  sunset.  On  sharp 
mornings  there  were  hoar  frosts  as  thick  and 

117 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

sparkling  as  snow,  and  into  every  sylvan 
camp  the  light  was  sifted  through  a  vast, 
jeweled  lantern.  Leaves  drifted  down,  nuts 
pattered,  squirrels  scrambled  to  get  in  their 
winter  stores,  birds  took  their  last  feast  of 
seeds,  flocks  of  bronze  turkeys  fattened  in  the 
amber  chestnut  groves.  The  creeping  fires  in 
the  forest  undergrowth  mingled  their  smoke 
with  the  still  air  of  Indian  summer,  making  a 
pungent  atmosphere  as  silvery  a  blue  as  the 
fringed  gentians.  It  brooded  over  the  primeval 
world  like  a  tender  memory  of  all  the  years 
that  had  died  in  just  such  splendid  tranquillity 
and  the  faith  of  spring. 

Spring  was  hurrying  up  the  foot-hill  valleys 
of  the  western  slope  again  when  Johnny  re- 
appeared in  a  camp  on  the  Great  Trail.  Al- 
though their  ponies  were  loaded  with  furs, 
jerked  venison  and  bears'  grease,  the  Indians 
managed  to  get  his  apple-seeds  to  the  Great 
Crossing.  There  he  lashed  two  borrowed 
canoes  together  and  floated  down  the  Mus- 
kingum, stopping  to  put  his  nurseries  in  order 
and  to  replant  those  that  had  not  survived. 

Leaving  half  his  seeds  at  Isle  le  Beau,  he 
went  by  the  route  of  the  summer  before  up 
to   the   Shawnee   village.     But  he   traveled 

118 


ON    "THE    BLOODY    WAY" 

faster  now,  on  relays  of  horses  furnished  by 
white  settlers,  and  then  on  a  pony,  for  a  band 
of  Indians  came  far  down  the  trace  to  meet 
him.  Along  the  Scioto  he  put  in  a  nursery 
at  the  new  salt-maker's  camp,  and  wherever 
there  was  the  floating  mill  and  blacksmith 
shop  that  made  the  nucleus  of  a  settlement. 
Over  the  old  Scioto-Beaver  trail  he  crossed 
to  the  Muskingum. 

It  was  June  when  he  returned  to  Marietta, 
to  find  Kitt  Putnam  hoeing  and  weeding  in 
the  flowery  cove  above  the  shipyard,  and  to 
find  rows  and  rows  of  apple-twigs,  bright- 
barked  as  rose  -  canes,  tall  enough  for  boys' 
switches  and  showing  sturdy  bunches  of  fuzzy, 
gray-green  foliage. 

9 


VI 

A   VISION   OF   ROMANCE 

|HEN  Betty  Stacey  married  at 
seventeen,  and  went  away  back 
in  the  woods  to  live  on  a  little 
creek  that  ran  singing  to  the 
Scioto,  Johnny  planted  his  first 
orchard  near  the  Indian  border 
about  the  new  home. 

The  year  before  he  had  arrived  at  Marietta 
early  in  March,  when  the  red  maples  were 
dropping  their  crimson  blossoms  on  the  last 
patches  of  snow.  Along  the  Muskingum  he 
had  found  some  of  his  nurseries  overrun  by 
deer  or  choked  by  weeds.  In  none  of  them, 
indeed,  except  at  Zanesville  and  Big  Bottom, 
were  there  more  than  a  few  trees  worth 
transplanting.  But  those  few,  set  out  by 
cabin  doors,  and  Johnny's  undaunted  spirit, 
stimulated  hope  and  stiffened  determina- 
tion  in   the   sparsely   settled   districts.     He 

I20 


A   VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

cleared  the  plantations  again,  strengthened 
the  broken  barriers,  replanted  the  plots,  and 
gave  them  to  the  care  of  the  best  men  to  be 
found.  And  he  told  people  not  to  be  dis- 
couraged. This  was  just  a  beginning,  and 
he  was  young  and  life  long.  Better  luck 
next  time. 

But  here  in  Marietta,  with  a  town  full  of 
vigilant  people  on  guard,  and  Dr.  True  in 
authority  over  Kitt  Putnam,  everything  had 
prospered.  The  happy  day  of  toil  that  he 
spent  in  the  hollow  above  the  shipyard  be- 
gan with  a  rush  of  wings.  From  long  jour- 
neys little  bundles  of  feathers  and  bursts  of 
song  fell  from  the  sky.  On  the  morrow  he 
meant  to  have  here  a  gathering  of  the  heads 
of  households  for  the  first  distribution  of 
trees,  and  for  instruction  in  the  setting  out 
and  care  of  them. 

First  he  thinned  the  rows,  with  a  swift  cer- 
tainty of  eye  and  hand  discarding  all  plants 
of  feeble  growth.  A  few  tough  little  twisted 
witches,  that  could  be  trusted  to  put  out 
defensive  thorns  and  hold  their  own  in  the 
wilds  he  planted  among  the  hawthorns,  dog- 
wood and  Judas -trees  in  the  edges  of  the 
forest,  for  their  beauty  of  blossom.      Then 


121 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

he  carefully  lifted  the  trees  that  had  shot  up 
almost  to  his  own  height,  with  stout,  straight 
trunks,  bright  bark,  healthy  buds  and  low, 
symmetrical  branching.  These  he  pruned 
back,  trimmed  the  roots  neatly,  and  banked 
in  a  trench  all  ready  for  transplanting.  Stock 
of  good  trunk  and  root  growth,  but  with  un- 
promising tops,  he  cut  off  to  a  point  near  the 
ground  and  replanted  in  one  row  for  grafting 
with  buds  from  Dr.  True's  Summer  Sweet- 
ing. He  meant  to  rob  that  noble  tree  of 
more  buds,  wrap  them  in  wet  moss  and  carry 
them  down  to  Belpre  and  Isle  le  Beau,  even 
to  Galliopolis,  if  possible,  where  bewildered 
exiles  mourned  the  lost  orchards  and  gar- 
dens of  their  dear  France. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  the 
plantation  was  denuded.  He  had  begun  to 
prepare  the  ground  for  new  seeds  when  a 
little  boy  appeared  from  the  shipyard,  where 
four  vessels  lay  on  the  ways  and  there  was 
much  thrilling  adventure  to  be  had  scrambling 
over  the  rigging.  To  any  child  it  was  fas- 
cinating play  to  help  Johnny  in  his  work, 
and  he  was  never  too  busy  to  listen  to  shy 
confidences  or  to  answer  endless  questions. 
This  boy  asked  if  it  was  true,  as  Dominic 


122 


A   VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

Blennerhasset  said,  that  the  littlest  thread- 
roots  of  trees  were  hollow  and  had  mouths 
for  drinking  water. 

Johnny  did  not  know,  but  he  thought  it 
very  likely.  Sugar  maples  must  drink  like 
river  pike.  Children  with  sharp  ears  could 
hear  the  sap  run  up.  He  would  look  through 
the  microscope  at  Isle  le  Beau,  and  find  out 
about  that.  And  here  his  thought  was  off 
on  the  wings  of  wonder  and  joy,  that  the 
world  was  so  ordered  in  use  and  beauty  that 
rain  from  the  sky  was  miraculously  turned 
to  winey  juice  in  the  glowing  chalices  of 
apples. 

The  child  had  been  in  the  cove  an  hour 
before  he  began  to  tell  the  news  of  the  town: 
"Dr.  True  stays  at  Aunt  Mary  Lake's  nearly 
all  the  time,  and  Betty  comes  to  our  house 
when  she  wants  to  cry." 

Johnny  dropped  his  hoe  and  stared.  "Why 
does  the  doctor—    Why  does  Betty  want  to 

cry?" 

"I  guess  it's  because  Aunt  Mary's  been  aw- 
ful sick  a  long  time.     She  don't  get  out  of  bed 

at  all." 

Mary  Lake  dying!  No,  nothing  died! 
For  Johnny  not  a  flower  drooped  on  its  stalk, 

123 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

nor  a  sparrow  fell,  whose  perfume  and  song 
had  not  their  lovelier  counterparts  on  the 
other  shore.  But  Mary  Lake  fading  from 
the  eyes  that  dwelt  on  her,  the  hearts  that 
loved  her,  on  earth !  And  this  was  not  a  time 
of  death,  but  of  resurrection.  Countless  pale 
but  pulsing  things  were  coming  up  out  of 
winter  tombs.  The  bluebird  trilled  to  his 
mate;  and  Johnny  had  been  conscious  of 
strange  stirrings  in  himself,  an  eagerness  of 
foot  and  eye,  a  bubbling  up  of  all  the  springs 
of  youth. 

In  the  garrison  inclosure  of  Campus  Mar- 
tius  it  was  so  very  still — only  a  group  of  silent 
women  drawing  water  for  the  evening  meal 
at  the  well,  and  children  hushed  at  play — 
that  he  could  hear  the  purple  martins  taking 
their  last  wheeling  flights  in  the  dusk.  Dr. 
True  sat  outside  the  door,  his  hickory  chair 
tilted  against  the  wall,  every  line  of  his  lank 
figure  confessing  sadness  and  defeat. 

"I'd  have  had  Mary  Lake  well  in  no  time, 
Johnny,  if  she  had  been  up  to  help  me,"  he 
said,  his  humor  whimsical  even  in  his  grief. 

A  neighbor  woman  was  bending  over  the 
bed.  She  had  had  to  fetch  her  young  baby, 
and  Betty  was  sitting  with  it  in  Johnny's  low 

124 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

rocking-chair,  her  bright  hair  burnished  by 
the  firelight.  At  sixteen  she  had  grown  tall 
and  fair,  and  was  now  so  tenderly  maternal 
as  she  looked  down  upon  the  little  bit  of  a 
darling  thing  in  her  arms.  Johnny  had  come 
in  so  softly  that  she  did  not  hear  him,  and 
his  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  as  memories 
of  old  dreams  crowded  back  upon  him.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  just  come  in  from  the  orchard 
at  Pittsburg,  and  the  breeze  from  the  opening 
door  had  set  the  little  chair,  with  its  haunting 
vision  of  all  that  was  meant  by  love  and  home, 
in  motion.  The  strangest  thing  about  it  was 
that  he  knew —  When  Betty  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his  he  saw  the  sweet,  sweet  face  for  which 
he  had  looked  under  the  hoods  of  a  thousand 
caravans. 

He  gripped  the  door-post  and  had  himself 
in  hand  by  the  time  she  had  laid  the  baby 
down  and  run  to  him.  She  stretched  out  her 
hands  in  glad  welcome,  but  her  lips  were 
tremulous  with  trouble  and  her  blue  eyes  were 
suddenly  flooded. 

"It's  not  for  Aunt  Mary,  Johnny,"  she 
said.  "She  has  no  pain,  now,  and  is  so 
happy.  It's  just  that,  when  she's  gone,  there 
will  be  no  one  in  the  world  belonging  to  me." 

125 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Unconscious  of  the  nature  or  the  power 
of  that  appeal  to  him,  she  went  away  pres- 
ently with  the  neighbor,  and  remained  to 
cry  her  heart  out  where  it  would  not  dis- 
tress Aunt  Mary,  while  Johnny  watched  by 
the  bed. 

That  wood-nest  of  a  low-ceiled,  quiet  room 
seemed  thronged  with  grateful  spirits.  How 
many  lives  had  been  ushered  in  there !  How 
often  had  death  been  turned  from  that  door! 
Johnny  waited  until  Mary  Lake  stirred  at  the 
note  of  a  distant  bugle,  a  sound  that  he  never 
could  hear  without  a  thrill.  Her  dim  eyes 
rested  upon  him  with  the  vision  of  those  who 
look  back  from  the  parting  veil.  Did  she 
foresee  the  long  journey  of  life  that  lay  before 
him,  and  have  the  tender  wish  that  it  might 
not  be  uncompanioned? 

"Dear  lad — you  would  be — the  core  of  the 
heart — of  the  woman — who  loved  you." 

He  thought  only  of  Betty.  "Aunt  Mary," 
he  asked,  gently,  not  to  call  her  too  far  back, 
"what  is  to  become  of  Betty?" 

There  was  the  faintest,  untroubled  smile. 
"Do  'ee  think — the  pretty  maid — will  not 
marry?" 

His  voice  choked  on  the  answer:  "Yes,  she 

126 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

will  marry — early.     But  does — does  she  love 
any  one  now?" 

It  was  moments  before  Mary  Lake  replied. 
She  gazed  at  Johnny  wistfully,  and  then 
around  the  dear,  familiar  room,  as  if  she 
would  see  another  family  of  her  own  heart's 
choosing  sheltered  there.  "A  young  maid — 
does  not  love  any  one — enough — until  she  is 
asked.     Do  'ee — " 

At  that  moment  Betty  returned.  A  tiny 
girl  in  a  linsey  slip  followed  her  and  stood 
expectantly  within  the  doorway.  The  shy 
little  figure  could  have  been  no  more  than  a 
shadow  to  those  failing  eyes,  and  the  lisping 
"pleathe"  could  not  have  reached  her  ears, 
but  Mary  Lake  knew.  She  was  dying,  but 
so  busy  doing  things  for  the  least  of  these  little 
ones  that  she  just  forgot  about  it. 

"Do  'ee — give  her — a  cooky — my  dear." 

The  child  was  gone,  sucking  the  sweet  as 
blissfully,  as  unthinking  of  the  source  of  that 
bounty,  as  a  butterfly  on  a  flower.  Then  on 
the  closed  room  there  fell  such  a  silence  that 
the  swallows  could  be  heard  settling  in  their 
nests  about  the  eaves.  Johnny  still  knelt, 
and  Betty  was  in  a  desolate  heap  at  his  feet, 
the  cooky- jar  tilted  on  her  lap  and  spilling 

127 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

its  treasure  on  the  floor.  The  overflow  was 
a  part  of  the  loving  -  kindness  that  now 
streamed  down  from  the  sky. 

No  one  had  gone  out  of  the  house,  but  in  a 
moment  it  was  as  if  a  messenger  had  been 
abroad.  The  doctor  was  in  the  room,  neigh- 
bors, and  weeping  young  girls  who  had  the 
dear  privilege  of  putting  their  arms  around 
and  comforting  Betty.  But  in  an  hour  the 
face  of  death  was  covered  and  the  routine  of 
life  taken  up  again.  Some  one  mended  the 
fire  and  hung  the  kettle.  The  doctor  was 
called  away,  and  one  by  one  the  women  de- 
parted to  attend  to  their  own  household 
duties.  With  that  hourly  responsibility  for 
the  physical  needs  of  others  which  left  pioneer 
women  little  time  for  grief,  Betty  laid  the  table 
and  turned  on  Johnny  a  look  of  affectionate 
concern. 

"You've  had  a  long  day's  work.  Won't 
you  try  to  eat  a  little  supper?  Please, 
Johnny." 

He  patted  her  hand  gently,  and,  sitting  down 
with  her  in  the  intimacy  of  sorrow  ate  a  bowl 
of  mush  and  milk.  But  it  was  almost  more 
than  he  could  bear.  When  others  came  in  to 
watch,  and  Betty  slept,  still  sobbing  in  her 

128 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

sleep,  Johnny  went  out  into  a  night  that  glit- 
tered with  frosty  stars.  Between  the  tall 
shafts  of  leafless  trees  he  went  up  Sacra  Via 
to  the  Big  Mound,  and  lay  among  the  scat- 
tered headboards  of  God's  Acre,  alone  with 
his  temptation. 

From  a  heart  that  had  long  lain  dormant 
love  had  quickened  in  the  fires  of  spring  to 
vivid  and  insistent  life.  Without  seeking, 
and  to  his  profound  dismay,  he  had  found 
her,  and  alone,  bereft,  unprotected.  He  must 
stay  with  her,  win  her,  defend  her  in  these 
perilous  wilds  that  lay  under  the  gathering 
clouds  of  war,  wear  her  on  his  breast.  He 
knew  that  he  could  protect  her  better  than 
most  men  in  that  region.  How  would  it  be 
with  him  if  he  left  her  and  she  perished? 

Even  his  work  had  shaped  itself  as  if  to 
this  end  of  personal  happiness.  Only  near 
the  few  large  settlements  did  it  seem  prob- 
able that  his  nurseries  could  flourish,  or  any 
great  number  of  people  be  served.  To  a 
dozen  such  places  along  the  river  westward 
to  Vincennes  he  could  make  semi-annual 
journeys  by  the  mail  -  packet  and  freight- 
pirogues.  Enough  money  could  be  got  for 
his  trees  to  employ  help  to  care  for  them  and 

129 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

to  pay  men  to  wash  out  seeds  at  the  cider- 
mills.  Here  in  Marietta  he  could  have  the 
farm  that  had  been  offered  him  by  the  Ohio 
Company,  build  up  such  another  home  as  he 
had  had  in  Pittsburg,  and  provide  for  a 
family  within  the  safe  shelter  of  the  guns  of 
Fort  Harmer.  And  by  and  by,  when  the 
wilder  beasts  were  gone,  and  the  Indians  had 
become  civilized  or, — when  the  Indians,  too, 
were  gone,  so  that  Betty  would  not  be  afraid, 
they  could  have  a  green  little  home  in  a  bower- 
ing  orchard  in  the  forest. 

He  need  only  give  up  that  part  of  his 
mission  which  took  him  into  the  backwoods — 
say  that  the  task  could  not  be  done,  and  men 
would  believe  him.  But  he  knew  that  he  had 
been  taking  something  more  than  the  prom- 
ise of  orchards  into  the  wilds  —  himself, 
brotherly  love,  unselfish  service,  the  hope  of 
better  days.  And  in  a  dozen  years,  a  tree 
like  Dr.  True's  here  and  there  would  begin 
to  leaven  the  bare  clearings.  He  would  know 
that  the  task  was  not  impossible,  and  that 
knowledge  would  poison  all  his  relations  with 
men,  with  wife  and  child  and  God.  And  the 
nurseries  he  had  planted  and  abandoned 
would  blush  for  him  in  thorny  thickets  every 

130 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

spring,  a  reminder  of  one  man's  broken  prom- 
ise undermining  the  faith  of  men. 

He  had  made  his  covenant.  The  work  to 
which  he  had  consecrated  himself  would  fill 
the  measure  of  his  years  to  the  brim,  and  need 
all  the  passion  that  burned  within  him. 

After  the  funeral  and  the  distribution  of 
trees  Johnny  went  down  to  Belpre  and  Isle 
le  Beau  in  the  Blennerhassets'  big  canoe  with 
six  negro  rowers,  leaving  Betty  to  make  a 
home  temporarily  for  Dr.  True,  heart-free  and 
for  another  man's  wooing.  And  this  was  the 
spring  of  the  year  and  the  mating  season  in 
his  soul,  when  the  courtship -caroling  of  blue- 
bird, wood-thrush,  and  oriole  pierced  the 
heart  of  youth  with  their  sweetness. 

That  summer  he  went  up  through  Cin- 
cinnati and  Dayton  to  Piqua.  There  for  a 
month  he  lay  ill  from  a  snake  -  bite,  and 
was  cared  for  in  the  good  log  house  of  Chief 
Logan.  It  was  a  heartening  thing  to  find, 
on  the  bank  of  the  Miami,  even  this  one  small 
band  bravely  struggling  to  learn  the  difficult 
habits  and  arts  of  a  rude  civilization.  A  num- 
ber of  cabins,  barns  and  corn-cribs  had  been 
built;   fields  were   being  tilled  with  wooden 

131 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

mold-board  plows,  and  cattle  tended  in  fenced 
pastures.  Squaws  heckled  flax  and  worked 
at  wheel  and  loom.  In  the  autumn  the  trees 
of  a  flourishing  nursery  could  be  set  out. 
Before  he  left  the  village  Johnny  planted  a 
little  apple-tree  for  the  braves,  and  gave  them 
brief  instructions  as  to  the  proper  care  of  an 
orchard  to  bring  it  to  its  greatest  use  and 
beauty. 

When  able  to  travel  he  was  given  a  pony 
for  the  season,  provided  with  food,  and  set 
upon  the  cross-country  trail  that  ran  from 
the  Miami  to  the  Scioto.  It  was  on  the 
moraine  where  the  hills  had  been  rounded 
and  the  valleys  filled  with  fine  drift  by  the 
ancient  ice-cap.  There  were  few  boulders, 
but  every  crystal-clear  stream  rippled  over  a 
bed  of  pebbles,  and  enormous  hardwood  trees 
were  rooted  deep  in  clean,  gravelly  loam. 

One  evening  late  in  August,  as  he  topped 
a  steep  rise  after  fording  a  creek,  he  looked 
down  into  such  a  sylvan  retreat  as  he  had 
imagined  for  that  green  little  home  in  the 
forest  with  Betty.  Noble  trees,  set  far  apart 
and  with  little  undergrowth,  stepped  down 
the  turfed  terraces  of  a  natural  amphitheater 
to  an  open  glade  where  deer  had  long  been 

132 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

accustomed  to  graze.  Across  the  front  of  this 
the  creek  had  turned  and  widened  in  peace- 
ful flow  toward  the  Scioto.  Willows  fringed 
the  banks,  and  from  the  grassy  slopes  wood- 
lilies  lifted  their  chalices  of  flame  and  painted 
moccasin-flowers  danced  on  every  breeze. 

He  stopped  for  no  more  than  a  moment  to 
look  down  from  the  trail,  and  was  riding  on 
when  he  saw,  at  one  side  of  the  glade,  a 
smoldering  log  in  front  of  a  new-comer's  half- 
faced  camp.  Then  he  heard  a  hallooing  from 
the  woods,  and  was  dragged  from  the  pony 
by  young  David  Varnum  of  Marietta. 

"Whoopee,  Johnny!  If  this  isn't  luck! 
I'm  so  almighty  glad  to  see  you  I  could  sa- 
lute you  like  those  fool  parley  vous  at  Gal- 
liopolis." 

Johnny  smiled.  "If  you  did  I  would  turn 
the  other  cheek,  David.  My  name  is  Jona- 
than." There  was  healing  for  sick  fancy  in 
this  warm  comradeship  with  one  of  his  own 
age  and  of  the  New  England  breed. 

"Well,  I'll  admit  it.  I'm  as  pleased  as 
pie.  Been  a  hermit  of  the  woods  here  for  a 
month,  and  losing  my  wits  and  pride  for 
lonesomeness." 

To  find  him  here  alone,  grubbing  out  brush, 

133 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

felling  trees,  and  girdling  the  buckeye-trees 
that  were  used  for  cabin-building,  could  mean 
but  one  thing.  It  was  thus  that  an  edu- 
cated and  God-fearing  Puritan  youth  carved 
out  a  place  to  stand  on  in  the  backwoods 
of  the  Northwest  Territory,  brought  his  Bi- 
ble and  his  wife,  defended  his  own,  served 
his  country  in  camp  and  court,  and  by 
and  by  built  school-houses,  churches,  roads 
and  bridges.  Such  men  peopled  and  con- 
quered every  American  frontier,  were  loved 
by  their  families,  honored  by  their  neighbors, 
and  held  fast  their  broad  acres  for  their  chil- 
dren's rich  inheritance.  But  from  Plymouth 
Rock  to  the  Golden  Gate  very  few  of  them 
ever  took  the  hand  of  a  red  man  in  friendship, 
spared  a  harmless  animal,  or  a  tree  for  its 
age  and  beauty,  or  stopped  to  listen  to  the 
song  of  a  meadow-lark. 

While  stirring  a  pot  of  mush  over  the  fire 
Johnny  speculated  on  David's  choice,  hoping 
it  might  be  some  maid  of  Spartan  courage 
who  was  coming  to  such  a  sparsely  settled 
region  so  far  up  near  the  border.  Then 
the  soft  whistling  died  on  his  lips  as  he  re- 
membered David's  tender  concern  for  Betty 
at  Mary  Lake's  funeral.      He  did  not  wait. 

134 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

When  David  came  up  from  the  creek  with  a 
fish  Johnny  laid  on  the  searing-iron  that  was 
to  cure  the  wound  in  his  heart. 

"Is  it  Betty  Stacey,  David?" 

"It's  Betty.  The  Lord  has  been  mighty 
good  to  me." 

Johnny  held  out  his  hand  in  yearning  friend- 
ship to  Betty's  lover.     "When?" 

"Next  spring.  It  will  take  me  all  winter 
here  to  get  ready  for  her." 

"She — she  must  love  you  a  great  deal. 
You  know  about  her  mother?  Betty  is  afraid 
of  the  Indians." 

David's  smile  was  grim.  "I'll  take  par- 
ticularly good  care  that  the  Indians  are  afraid 
of  me." 

"Oh,  make  friends  with  them.  It  would 
be  safer  and  happier  for  Betty." 

David  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders.  "You 
can't  make  friends  with  wildcats  and  rat- 
tlesnakes." Something  in  Johnny's  troubled 
look  made  him  add:  "Why,  bless  your  good 
heart,  Johnny,  I'll  take  care  of  Betty!" 

His  self-confidence  was  pathetic.  His  un- 
compromising and  contemptuous  attitude  tow- 
ard the  ten  thousand  warriors  whom  he  would 
have   as    neighbors   could   not   but    increase 

ic  135 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

the  peril  of  everything  that  belonged  to  him. 
Johnny  remembered  the  pallid  face  and 
wide  eyes  that  Betty  had  turned  on  him  in 
the  cove,  and  her  apprehension  on  the  bluff 
below  Campus  Martius.  Then  he  had  re- 
assured her:  "The  Indians  are  friendly  with 
me.  I'll  look  after  those  babies,  Betty." 
David  must  listen  to  him,  must  let  him  help 
take  care  of  Betty. 

After  an  unhappy  night  which  was  dis- 
turbed by  wild  alarms,  he  woke  to  an  August 
morning  that  was  one  vast  bubble  of  blue  and 
gold.  At  the  bottom  of  that  dazzling  im- 
mensity lay  this  dewy  glade,  bordered  by 
brown  water  and  guarded  by  such  kind 
brothers  of  great  trees  as  must  shade  the 
banks  of  the  River  of  Life. 

And  here  was  this  conqueror  of  the  wilder- 
ness, in  the  flush  of  his  youthful  strength  and 
successful  love,  talking  eagerly  of  his  plans. 
He  meant  to  put  the  cabin  here,  in  this  natural 
opening,  and  then  clear  the  land  about  it  up 
to  the  curving  trail. 

As  if  he  had  not  heard,  Johnny  continued 
to  gaze  out  across  the  creek  and  over  miles 
of  softly  rolling  wooded  hills  and  flashes  of 
bright  water. 

136 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

"Your  home  will  be  as  beautiful  as  Isle  le 
Beau." 

David  smiled.  "It  takes  money  to  live 
like  that.  The  house  is  a  mansion,  as  fine 
as  any  on  the  Potomac." 

"But  they  have  left  the  out-of-doors  much 
as  God  made  it.  Every  pioneer,  just  by  leav- 
ing some  things  alone,  could  have  his  own 
little  island  of  beauty,  comfort  and  safety 
for  his  family  and  domestic  animals." 

Johnny's  look  had  rested  on  David  wist- 
fully, but  now  his  gray  eyes  darkened  and 
blazed  with  indignation. 

"The  Lord  has  been  good  to  you  in  giving 
you  Betty  Stacey,  but  how  will  you  be  good 
to  her?  I  wonder  that  you  dare  bring  her 
here  at  all.  And  you  would  turn  her  beauti- 
ful home  into  a  scar  on  creation,  and  shut  her 
in,  a  life  prisoner  in  a  hideous,  snake-fenced 
corn-patch?  She'll  come  to  you  singing  like 
a  thrush,  and  in  a  year  she'll  scream  if  a 
shadow  falls  across  the  door  or  a  tree  cracks 
in  the  frost." 

"Like  those —  I've  seen  such  women  in 
the  back  clearings — thought  they  were  bad- 
tempered  or  half  crazy." 

Johnny  shook  his  head.     "Just  scared  to 

137 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

death,  starved  for  beauty  and  company, 
broken-hearted.  Men  have  errands — trust 
them  for  dropping  work  for  a  day  and  seeking 
the  society  of  other  men.  You  have  been 
here  alone  for  only  a  month,  and  'losing  your 
wits  and  pride  for  lonesomeness.'  But  wom- 
en must  stay  at  home.  Their  task  is  never 
done;  little  clinging  fingers  never  loose  their 
hold.  They  are  left,  wherever  and  whenever 
it  pleases  men  to  leave  them — world  without 
end." 

"I  might  have  done  that  to  Betty !"  David 
listened  in  eagerness  and  humility  to  Johnny's 
plan  to  fence  in  this  depression,  except  along 
the  water-front,  with  puncheon  pickets  close- 
set  and  ten  feet  high,  leaving  the  crest  of  the 
ridge  and  the  trees  on  the  sky-line.  When 
that  fence  was  screened  with  forest  vines  and 
shrubs  there  would  be  a  little  green  and  flower- 
walled  world  of  several  acres  of  lawn  and  gar- 
den, bowering  orchard  and  pleasant  pasture; 
and  to  the  sunny  south  one  lovely  and  limit- 
less view. 

David  threw  up  his  hands  in  mock  despair. 
"This  is  the  best  grain  land  of  the  whole 
section." 

Then  it's  none  too  good  for  a  home.     If 


138 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

Adam  had  been  an  American  pioneer  he'd 
have  asked  for  an  ax  and  a  gun  to  improve 
on  Eden.  And  make  it  your  first  business 
to  get  some  neighbors,  so  Betty  can  'see 
smoke  by  somebody's  house."'  And  Johnny 
told  that  story. 

Before  noon  he  was  gone  to  the  tender  nur- 
series that  called  to  him  all  along  the  border, 
the  upper  reaches  of  the  Scioto,  and  the  lake 
shore  from  the  Wyandot  village  at  Sandusky 
to  the  struggling  settlement  at  Cleveland. 
His  was  but  the  pause  of  a  bird  of  passage 
in  that  wildwood  glade,  but  because  of  its 
timeliness  Betty  found  her  island  of  refuge 
on  the  border. 

After  a  rapid  journey  down  the  Muskingum 
and  Ohio  in  the  next  spring,  to  distribute 
trees  and  put  in  new  seed,  Johnny  went  up 
to  David's  clearing.  The  cabin  of  logs  was  up, 
and  the  fence — a  labor  of  Hercules,  for  every 
tall  picket  had  been  split  by  hand  out  of  black 
walnut,  and  secured  by  hickory  pegs  driven  in 
auger-holes.  The  chimney  was  a  great  bay 
of  field  stones  on  the  gable  end,  and  a  low, 
rock  spring-house  dairy  was  snuggled  under 
a  sycamore  above  a  pool  on  the  creek  bank. 
A  clearing  had  been  made  and  furrows  turned 

139 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

for  corn,  wheat  and  flax  down  the  water- 
way, and  the  bridegroom  had  gone  away  to 
Marietta. 

Johnny  had  brought  up  young  apple-trees 
in  a  canoe  from  his  nursery  at  Chillicothe,  and 
Betty  was  to  fetch  roots  and  shrubs,  bulbs 
and  seeds  from  the  wonderful  gardens  at  Isle 
le  Beau.  From  rough  hillsides  and  rich  wood- 
land nooks  he  transplanted  hawthorn,  dog- 
wood, redbud,  laurel,  elderberry,  hazel,  wild- 
roses  and  brier  -  berries  around  the  fence. 
Before  the  puncheon  door  he  set  up  a  tiny 
stoop  of  sassafras  saplings,  and  planted  wild 
honeysuckle  to  clamber  over  it.  Up  the 
gables  of  the  log  barn  he  trained  fox-grapes 
and  trumpet-vines.  Then  down  the  sloping 
lawn  he  made  a  gravel  path  to  the  spring- 
house,  and  opened  bordering  beds  for  flower- 
ing annuals. 

Here  and  there  he  put  in  his  apple-trees, 
without  any  regularity  but  with  a  view  to 
effect  that  would  have  appeared  to  a  landscape 
gardener.  Not  for  a  generation  or  more  would 
there  be  a  market  for  apples  in  this  region, 
but  a  settler  of  the  unusual  resources  and 
qualities  of  leadership  of  David  Varnum 
must  make  generous  provision  for  less  fortu- 

140 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

nate  neighbors,  for  Indians  whose  friendship 
was  to  be  won  by  hospitality,  and  for  the  way- 
farers whose  numbers  would  increase  with  the 
seasons.  And  in  a  region  where  land  was 
cheap  and  life  dear,  it  mattered  not  at  all 
whether  a  tree  paid  for  the  room  it  occupied. 
Many  of  Johnny's  trees  were  planted  and 
cherished  for  their  beauty. 

A  butternut-tree  shaded  the  well.  Across 
from  it  he  put  in  a  one-sided  apple-tree  that 
would  unfurl  a  banner  of  bloom  over  the  pent- 
house of  white  oak.  Two  trees  he  set  near 
together  to  make  a  tent  of  boughs  above  a 
rustic  seat.  Separating  the  kitchen  garden 
from  the  lawn  was  one  straight  row  to  shelter 
a  colony  of  beehives.  A  tree  with  bent  twigs 
that  promised  a  low,  roomy  crotch  he  placed 
in  full  view  of  the  front  door,  where  the  littlest 
baby  could  climb  into  it  under  the  mother's 
watchful  eye. 

In  that  porous  forest  soil  apple-trees  needed 
no  fertilizer  and  but  little  cultivation.  To 
plant  a  tree  Johnny  dug  a  big  hole  and  spread 
the  trimmed  roots  in  it.  Then  he  sifted  in 
the  moist  earth,  and  pressed  it  down  into  a 
firm  bed  without  using  any  water.  Frequent 
showers  could  be  depended  upon.     He  tucked 

141 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

the  grass  and  clover  sod  snugly  about  the 
trunk  to  protect  the  roots,  removed  every 
sucker,  pruned  the  branches  back  to  lower 
and  spread  the  head,  and  presently  this  tame 
foster-child  of  the  wilderness  was  putting  out 
new  branches  and  fuzzy  bunches  of  foliage. 

Johnny  was  aware  that  news  of  what  he 
was  doing  would  soon  be  abroad.  The  place 
lay  on  the  trail  to  Piqua,  and  near  a  great 
junction  of  those  "threads  of  the  soil"  that 
met  at  the  terminal  of  the  Scioto  -  Beaver 
trail  from  the  east.  And  he  kept  a  plume 
of  smoke  curling  up  by  day  and  flames  glow- 
ing by  night  so  that  many  travelers,  white 
and  red,  found  him  out.  He  meant  Betty's 
home  to  be  the  little  leaven  that  should  leaven 
the  solitude,  hostility  and  privation  of  the 
wilds,  a  place  of  physical,  social  and  spiritual 
refreshment. 

He  would  not  have  had  the  house  better 
than  it  was.  The  poorest  pioneer  could  have 
such  a  shelter.  The  door  was  hung  on  leather 
hinges;  the  hearth  would  be  swept  with  a 
corn-husk  broom.  The  puncheon  floor  was 
so  rough  that  the  task  of  keeping  it  scoured 
might  well  prove  discouraging,  so  Johnny 
smoothed  that  as  best  he  might  with  hatchet 

142 


A    VISION    OF    ROMANCE 

and  draw-knife.  Then  he  laid  the  fire— 
back-log,  front-log,  dry  sticks,  pine  knots, 
splinters — ready  for  lighting  with  flint  and 
steel  and  bit  of  tow-string.  The  empty  shell 
of  a  place  was  as  rustic  as  one  of  the  bark 
nests  he  had  cunningly  set  like  a  knot-hole 
in  the  butternut-tree  for  bluebirds  to  move 
into.  But  Betty  was  one  of  those  gifted 
women  who  could  make  a  cozy  home  in  a 
cave. 

All  the  birds  were  nesting,  and  night  after 
sleepless  April  night  Johnny  followed  that 
migrating  human  pair  in  tortured  fancy  from 
the  gay  and  tender  wedding  in  Marietta. 
They  would  come  to  Chillicothe  by  freight- 
pirogue.  There  David  had  left  his  horses 
and  bought  a  cow,  and  there  he  would  hire 
a  covered  wagon  for  the  journey  up  the  river 
trail. 

That  wedding  journey  through  this  un- 
spoiled wilderness!  By  night  they  would 
camp  in  the  caravan,  for  Betty  would  be 
afraid  of  prowling  beasts.  She  would  snuggle 
closer  to  her  brave  man  if  but  a  little  owl 
hooted.  Always  alone,  watched  over  by 
moon  and  stars,  canopied  by  new-leafing  trees, 
waking  to  all  the  sweet,  stirring  life  of  the 

143 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

woods  and  to  the  wonder  of  having  each 
other,  moving  on  in  shade  and  shine  and 
shower,  they  would  come  by  slow,  blissful 
stages  to  the  new  life  in  the  new  home. 

One  evening  he  heard  the  tramp  of  horses, 
the  jolting  of  the  clumsy  caravan,  and  the 
lowing  of  the  weary,  homesick  cow  on  the 
trail.  He  ran  up  the  grassy  terraces  and  set 
the  wagon-gate  ajar;  then  ran  down  to  light 
the  fire  on  the  hearth.  But  when  David 
pulled  the  horses  up  before  the  door  Johnny 
was  gone. 

Night  was  falling,  and  David  and  Betty 
hurried  to  get  Mary  Lake's  good  furniture 
in  place.  Soon  the  four-poster  bed  was  up 
and  spread  with  the  hand- woven,  blue-and- 
white  coverlid.  Flax- wheel  and  loom  were 
set  against  the  wall,  and  on  the  cherry  dresser 
was  displayed  the  scant  array  of  pewter  and 
blue  Canton  ware,  with  the  cooky- jar  of  brown 
crockery  in  the  place  of  honor.  An  oak 
settle  filled  one  chimney-corner,  and  the  little 
rocking-chair  stood  in  the  other.  Black  bear 
skins  warmed  the  floor.  The  kettle  was  bub- 
bling merrily  when  Betty  came  to  the  door 
to  call  Johnny  to  supper. 

She  had  disappeared  in  a  linsey-curtained 

144 


A   VISION   OF    ROMANCE 

corner  for  a  few  moments,  and  there  had  been 
gay,  teasing  laughter  in  the  single  big  room 
that  was  all  in  a  splendid  glow  of  firelight. 
Then  in  the  May-queen  gown  and  veil  that 
Mrs.  Blennerhasset  had  given  her  she  stood 
in  the  doorway,  peering  into  the  odorous  dusk. 

"He  can't  be  far  away.  I  thought  he'd 
like  to  see  me  in  my  wedding  finery.  It's  so 
sweet  here,  David;  so  dear  and  safe  and 
happy.  The  night  is  full  of  flowers  and  stars 
and  dew  and  sleepy  little  birds.  Where  are 
you,  Johnny?  Won't  you  come  in?  Please, 
Johnny!" 

She  went  into  the  cabin  at  last,  disappointed 
and  thoughtful,  and  put  on  a  girlish  frock  of 
blue  linsey.  Supper  was  eaten  and  cleared 
away.  By  and  by  David  shut  the  door. 
When  the  fire  was  covered  there  was  but  the 
faintest  glow  at  the  small,  oiled-paper  win- 
dows. The  latch-string  was  pulled  in.  A 
whippoorwill  cried  in  the  willows. 


VII 

THE   HOME   ON    THE    INDIAN    BORDER 


^ 


IN  no  year  of  his  mission  did 
Johnny  set  his  feet  on  the  road 
to  the  west  with  such  a  feeling 
of  well-being  and  happiness  as 
in  the  spring  of  1811.  A  gen- 
eral thaw  that  broke  the  back 
of  winter  in  the  middle  of  February  brought 
him  into  Pittsburg  with  his  seeds.  By  start- 
ing ten  days  sooner  than  usual  he  could  get 
through  with  the  work  he  had  mapped  out 
for  the  early  part  of  the  season,  and  reach 
Betty's  home  for  a  day's  rest  in  apple-blossom 
time.  At  least  once  in  every  year  it  was  nec- 
essary to  reassure  himself  that  Betty  and  her 
babies  were  safe  and  happy  in  their  little 
Eden  on  the  border. 

In  the  other  book  which  had  become  a 
second  Bible  to  him,  there  was  a  text  that  ex- 
plained how  zeal  had  lent  wings  to  his  purpose: 

146 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

"He  arrives  sooner  who  eagerly  desires  it." 
Beyond  all  he  had  dared  hope,  his  labor  of 
love  had  prospered.  As  population  increased 
his  nurseries  everywhere  were  cared  for;  and 
once  his  trees  were  planted  fewer  of  them  died 
or  reverted  to  their  wild  ancestry  than  had 
been  the  experience  in  the  east.  They  came 
into  full  bearing  much  earlier,  and,  unless  re- 
strained by  pruning,  shot  up  as  tall  as  forest 
trees.  Even  in  the  wildest  backwoods  clear- 
ings, where  scant  attention  could  be  given 
them  by  hard-pressed  pioneers,  they  bore 
small  but  abundant  fruit  of  a  mellowness  and 
spicy  flavor  such  as  no  ungrafted  tree  would 
bear  in  the  worn-out  soils  of  to-day. 

Late  in  his  third  winter  among  the  cider- 
mills  Dr.  True,  who  was  obliged  to  go  up  to 
Pittsburg  for  medical  supplies,  went  through 
a  number  of  old  orchards  with  him.  On  the 
quick  return  trip  by  the  mail-packet  he  had 
taken  buds  wrapped  in  wet  moss  and  hemp 
bagging,  and  grafted  them  on  the  young 
nursery  stock  in  the  cove.  Year  after  year 
there  had  been  persistent  and  intelligent  co- 
operation with  Johnny,  and  Marietta  and 
Belpre  would  soon  have  all  the  old  favorite 
varieties  of  apples  in  their  orchards,  and  there 

147 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

would  be  fruit  to  ship  to  New  Orleans.  Grafts 
from  the  first  of  these  good  trees  were  now 
being  carried  westward  and  up  the  larger 
tributaries. 

His  nurseries  must  be  kept  up  to  supply 
the  ever-increasing  flood  of  new-comers  with 
trees;  but  Johnny  had  trained  caretakers  for 
his  plantations  now,  and,  given  seeds,  much 
of  his  work  could  be  left  to  them.  This  re- 
leased him  to  press  his  mission  more  vigor- 
ously in  the  Indian  country.  Conditions  had 
long  been  working  ruin  for  the  tribes  of  the 
Northwest,  and  their  growing  poverty  and 
helplessness  was  a  piteous  thing. 

In  the  winter  Indians  still  hunted  in  the 
eastern  hills,  but  with  diminishing  returns  for 
their  labors,  and  Johnny  journeyed  westward 
with  them  in  the  spring.  This  year  a  Ger- 
man farmer  rode  with  him  to  the  first  camp 
on  the  Great  Trail.  There  he  meant  to  ask 
the  loan  of  a  horse  for  the  season,  and  to  go 
on  alone.  As  room  was  made  for  him  in  the 
circle  about  the  fire,  a  brave  said  that  they 
had  been  expecting  him.  He  pointed  to  the 
pearly  crescent  that  hung  low  in  the  west. 

"It's  Johnny  Appleseed  moon." 

There  were  grins  at  his  start  of  surprise. 

148 


IT  S    JOHNNY    APPLESEED    MOON 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Yes,  white  settlers  called  him  that,  too.  Well, 
that  was  good.  It  moved  him  profoundly 
to  have  won  a  nickname  that  stood  for  the 
faithful  performance  of  his  engagements. 
The  Indians  honored  him,  although  they  had 
neglected  his  nurseries  and  made  little  use  of 
his  ability  and  willingness  to  serve  them  in 
many  practical  ways.  And  to  them  he  owed 
everything.  Without  their  hospitality  in  the 
harder  seasons  and  on  the  wilder  trails  his 
mission  must  have  failed;  and  without  their 
ponies  and  canoes  he  never  could  have  jour- 
neyed over  such  great  regions  of  country. 
Now  they  waited  in  silence  until  he  had  eaten 
of  the  generous  bowl  of  hominy  cooked  with 
chestnuts  and  butternut  meats  that  a  squaw 
prepared  for  him,  before  they  talked  of  their 
misfortunes. 

The  game  was  almost  gone.  Famine  stared 
the  children  of  the  forest  in  the  face.  When 
Johnny  asked  if  they  would  have  food  to  last 
until  the  corn  came  in,  they  said  that  they 
could  get  what  was  needed  at  the  forts  in 
Canada.  The  British  were  their  friends,  and 
had  supplied  them  with  warm  blankets  and 
the  best  guns  for  hunting. 

Johnny's  heart  sank  with  a  sense  of  swiftly 

150 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

coming  disaster.  There  were  rumors  of  war 
with  England.  He  stood  up  and  looked  ac- 
cusingly into  every  shifty  eye. 

"Where  will  you  get  skins  to  pay  for  these 
things?  The  British  are  bribing  and  arming 
you.  If  they  make  war  on  the  Americans 
they  will  expect  you  to  help  them.  The 
Americans  will  never  be  driven  from  the 
homes  they  have  worked  so  hard  to  gain. 
If  you  are  so  foolish  as  to  let  yourselves  be 
used  against  your  neighbors  you  will  lose  all 
you  possess.  The  game  is  gone,  to  return 
no  more.  Your  truest  friends  are  those  who 
will  help  you  get  cattle,  tools  and  seeds,  and 
teach  you  the  habits  and  tasks  of  white  men." 

Until  far  into  the  night  he  talked  of  the 
blessings  of  industry  and  peace.  There  was 
no  famine  in  Piqua  for  Logan's  tribe,  which 
numbered  seven  hundred  braves.  In  that 
farm  village  on  the  Miami  there  were  warm 
cabins,  full  barns  and  corn-cribs,  cattle  in 
fenced  pastures,  meat  in  smoke-houses  and 
potatoes  and  apples  in  winter  pits.  The 
squaws  had  spinning-wheels  and  looms,  and 
in  exchange  for  their  furs  the  braves  were 
buying  useful  tools  of  the  Indian  agent. 
Blackhoof,  Lewis  and  wise  old  Crane,  Grand 

ii  151 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

Sachem  of  the  Wyandots,  knew  that  this  was 
the  way  of  wisdom.  The  teachings  of  Te- 
cumseh  and  The  Prophet,  that  they  should  go 
to  war  to  get  back  their  lost  lands,  were  evil. 
On  what  they  had  they  could  live  in  comfort 
and  security. 

Into  that  council  of  bitterness  and  despair 
he  brought  love  and  hope.  Now  he  must  mul- 
tiply himself;  engage  the  help  of  the  more 
civilized  tribes,  and  convert  the  settlers  on 
the  border  to  take  up  that  heroic  task  of 
saving  themselves  while  saving  a  dying  race. 
His  plans  all  changed,  he  rode  away  at  dawn. 
In  the  waxing  of  his  moon,  and  the  snows  and 
gales  of  early  March,  he  went  up  the  Cuya- 
hoga Valley  trail  to  Cleveland.  In  that  region 
he  marked  trees  for  distribution  and  left  sup- 
plies of  seeds.  Then,  from  the  shore  of  Lake 
Erie,  he  turned  southwest  into  the  border  trail 
which  white  men  had  blazed  with  ax-cuts  on 
trees  all  the  way  to  Dayton. 

Under  every  rude  roof  that  sheltered  a 
family  Johnny  stopped  to  beg  sympathy 
and  help  for  the  starving  tribes,  to  warn,  to 
reconcile.  From  one  Indian  village  to  an- 
other he  traveled  to  plant  seeds  and  to  take 
such  promise  of  relief  as  he  could  get.     But 

152 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

on  both  sides  of  the  border  there  was  much 
to  forgive,  more  to  fear,  and  race  antipathies 
that  no  argument  or  appeal  could  break  down. 
And  now  the  hunters,  returning  in  desperate 
straits,  were  committing  fresh  offenses.  John- 
ny's apprehension  and  compassion  for  white 
people  and  red  grew,  as  he  rode  through  the 
misty  emerald  aisles  of  April  toward  Betty's 
home. 

Unless  he  made  haste  the  orchard  would 
have  dropped  its  blossoms.  At  sunset  one 
day  he  was  still  ten  miles  from  his  journey's 
end,  and  riding  so  fast  that  he  would  have 
overlooked  a  rough  little  black  -  and  -  white 
puppy,  if  that  wise  young  dog  had  not  lain 
with  his  keen  fox  nose  in  the  path.  Lamed 
by  a  thorn  in  his  foot,  he  had  dropped  behind 
a  wagon,  and  had  waited  there  for  hours, 
confident  that  some  one  would  come  by  who 
needed  a  lonesome,  hungry  and  well-inten- 
tioned little  dog. 

Johnny  picked  up  the  waif — for  he  m 
left  a  domestic  animal  in  the  woods — washed 
the  injured  foot  at  a  spring,  shared  his  last 
dry  hoecake,  and  set  the  grateful  little  fellow 
comfortably  across  his  saddle-bow.  It  was 
long  after  nightfall  and  the  house  was  dark 

i53 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

when  he  drew  rein;  but  a  dewy  incense  came 
up  from  the  orchard  that  lay  in  snowy  drifts 
and  mounds  in  the  moonlighted  glade. 

The  tall  gate  that  opened  on  the  trail  was 
always  padlocked  at  night,  so  he  rode  around 
the  inclosure  and  up  from  the  creek  into  the 
yard.  He  turned  the  horse  loose  in  the  pas- 
ture, and,  not  wishing  to  disturb  the  family, 
took  his  seeds  and  blanket  to  a  bench  under 
the  blossoming  trees.  The  puppy  whimper- 
ing with  hunger,  he  was  obliged  to  go  back 
to  the  spring-house  to  get  him  some  milk. 
He  was  fumbling  with  the  fastenings  of  the 
door  when  David  called  from  the  house: 

"Who's  there?" 

"Johnny!" 

David  came  out  into  the  stoop,  set  his  shot- 
gun down,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

"You'd  better  halloo  from  the  road  after 
this.  I  might  have  filled  you  with  bird-shot. 
Indians  drove  off  one  of  my  cows  last  week 
and  raided  the  smoke-house.  I'll  shoot  the 
next  one  that  comes  sneaking  around  my 
place." 

"They  are  starving.     The  game  is  gone." 

"Well,  I  can't  feed  them.  They  have  land. 
Let  them  work  as  I  do." 

154 


THE    HOME    ON   THE    BORDER 

"They  don't  know  how  to  work,  David, 
and  have  nothing  to  work  with.  They  must 
be  helped  for  a  long  time,  and  be  taught  the 
simplest  tasks  with  kindness  and  patience." 

"You  can't  teach  wolves  to  herd  sheep. 
How  are  you,  Johnny?  Betty  and  the  chil- 
dren count  the  days  until  you  come."  His 
arm  went  around  the  slender  shoulders  in 
warm  affection.  He  fetched  out  a  crock  of 
milk  and  pushed  the  wagging  puppy's  muzzle 
into  the  creamy  pool.  "Stuff  your  skin  full 
and  grow,  you  little  rascal.  Jerusalem!  John- 
ny, this  is  an  English  sheep-dog!  He'll  be  as 
lean  and  swift  as  a  hound,  with  a  voice  like 
a  bugle  and  the  grit  to  tackle  his  own  weight 
in  wildcats.  What  luck!  Look  here,  will 
you?" 

He  unlocked  the  barn  door  and,  dragging 
Johnny  in,  excitedly  showed  him,  tied  in  a 
horse-stall,  a  splendid  specimen  of  a  merino 
ram.  Napoleon  had  raided  the  flocks  of 
Spain,  and  the  chief  duty  of  the  United  States 
consul  at  Lisbon,  at  that  time,  was  buying 
blooded  sheep  for  the  wool-growers  of  New 
England.  So  serious  was  the  need  of  woolen 
clothing  in  the  West  that  men  of  resource  and 
public  spirit  in  Ohio  were  now  bringing  these 


■3D 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

valuable  animals  over  the  mountains,  guard- 
ing them  as  they  did  their  children,  and  pay- 
ing bounties  on  wolf  scalps. 

"That  ram  came  from  the  royal  monastery 
of  Guadeloupe,  and  has  a  pedigree  as  long  as 
your  arm.  We  call  him  the  Little  Corporal. 
With  the  ewes  that  Colonel  Cushing  is  to 
get  for  me  he'll  cost  me  a  quarter-section  of 
land.  What  flocks  we  can  have  on  these 
thousand  hills  when  we  get  the  wolves  and 
the  Indians  cleaned  out!" 

While  the  door  was  being  secured  again 
Johnny  stood  with  bent  head.  There  were  ten 
thousand  warriors  on  the  Ohio  frontier,  under 
able  leadership,  and  driven  to  frenzy  by  suf- 
fering and  evil  counsel.  Nothing  was  safe 
here,  however  so  well  defended  by  lock  and 
gun  and  guardian  dog. 

"  David,  there  will  be  war  with  England. 
Tecumseh  and  The  Prophet  are  organizing 
and  inflaming  the  Indians,  and  the  British 
are  feeding  and  arming  them.  The  more 
civilized  tribes  are  friendly  to  us,  and  others 
could  be  won  over.  We  must  get  at  that 
work  now,  this  summer,  while  those  misguided 
chiefs  are  out  on  the  Wabash  with  a  thousand 
of  the  most  savage  of  the  warriors — " 

156 


THE    HOME   ON   THE    BORDER 

"General  Harrison  will  attend  to  them," 
David  interrupted,  impatiently.  "We  might 
as  well  fight  it  out.  If  we  have  to  lick  the 
redcoats  and  the  redskins  both  at  once,  why 
I  guess  we  can." 

"A  white  family  has  been  massacred  near 
Sandusky!" 

"I  know  about  that.  Don't  tell  Betty. 
I've  got  an  arsenal  in  the  house,  and  the  men 
of  this  neighborhood  are  building  a  stockade." 

"Then  at  the  first  sign  of  trouble  send 
Betty  and  the  children  down  to  Marietta. 
For  every  defenseless  thing  in  your  care  you 
will  have  to  answer  at  the  bar  of  God." 

He  turned  at  once  and  went  to  the  orchard, 
so  heavy  of  heart  that  it  was  long  before  he 
slept.  From  dreadful  dreams  of  the  war- 
cry,  tomahawk  and  torch,  he  woke  now  and 
then  to  a  night  that  was  absolutely  still. 
The  blossoming  trees  over  which  were  gather- 
ing the  dark  clouds  of  savage  war  stood  in  a 
tranced  and  fragrant  loveliness.  Betty,  com- 
ing out  in  a  morning  that  was  like  the  first 
that  blushed  on  Eden,  caught  her  breath  in 
the  sheer  bliss  of  being  alive  in  such  a  world. 
Johnny  was  asleep,  and  when  David  joined 
her  she  put  her  finger  to  her  lips. 

i57 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"  Don't  wake  him.  When  he  opens  his  eyes 
he'll  look  as  if  he  thought  he  had  died  and 
gone  to  heaven." 

The  children  tumbled  out  of  the  cabin  into 
the  happy  day — Mary  Lake's  namesake,  who 
was  going-on-seven ;  David  and  Jonathan, 
the  inseparable  twins,  and  two-year-old  Jim- 
my. Betty  hushed  their  cries  of  delight  over 
the  jolly  little  dog,  and  sent  them  with  a 
gourd  full  of  wet  cornmeal  to  feed  the  yellow 
balls  of  peepy  chickens. 

"Mary,"  she  said  in  the  quaint  phrase  that 
the  motherly  little  girl  had  adopted,  and  that 
had  won  for  her  the  nickname  of  Mary-go- 
'round,  "you  go  'round,  dear,  and  look  after 
brother  Jimmy." 

She  hurried  through  her  morning's  work, 
and  got  out  the  supply  of  new  clothing  that 
she  managed  always  to  have  ready  for  the 
beloved  wanderer.  Then,  while  he  still  slept 
she  refilled  his  food-pouch,  for  he  was  liable 
to  be  off  before  any  one  was  stirring  in  the 
morning.  Fetching  the  low  rocking-chair 
from  the  house,  she  sat  under  a  tent  of  blos- 
soming boughs  with  a  bit  of  sewing,  and 
watched  him  with  the  solicitude  of  the  child 
of  the  cove  of  near  a  dozen  years  before. 

158 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

Tears  filled  her  eyes.  All  over  Ohio  fam- 
ilies would  be  out,  to-day,  under  the  orchards 
he  had  planted,  while  Johnny  was  homeless. 
And  he  was  beginning  to  look — not  old,  for 
he  was  only  thirty-six,  and  he  would  have  a 
certain  look  of  youth  if  he  lived  to  be  a  hun- 
dred—but marked  with  his  years  of  toil  and 
solitude,  worn,  purified  by  self-sacrifice,  the 
gentle  and  ardent  spirit  shining  through.  No 
one  in  the  region  ever  spoke  of  him  except 
with  tender  reverence.  It  was  a  new  miracle 
that,  defenseless,  he  had  never  been  in  serious 
danger  from  man  or  beast  or  the  elements,  in 
a  vast  wilderness  that  bristled  with  perils. 
Just  now  his  face  was  shadowed  by  some 
anxiety  so  deep  that  it  pursued  him  into  his 
troubled  dreams.     He  woke  with  a  start. 

For  a  moment  of  bewilderment  he  thought 
himself  back  in  the  Pittsburg  orchard  on 
that  far-away  morning.  Here  was  the  rosy 
foam  of  apple-blossoms,  the  murmur  of  bees, 
the  lilt  of  bird-song,  the  rumble  of  a  caravan 
on  the  road;  and  in  the  little  rocking-chair 
the  appealing  guest?  No,  he  had  found  her 
grave  by  a  deserted  cabin,  and  had  planted 
an  apple-tree  where  she  lay  dead  from  an 
unhelped  child  birth,  with  the  babe  on  her 

i59 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

breast.     This  was  Betty,  and  she  was  say^ 

ing: 

"Johnny,  do  you  remember  the  night  Aunt 
Mary  Lake  died?  There  was  no  one  in  the 
world  then,  belonging  to  me.  And  now  I 
have  David,  and  my  arms  full  of  darling  little 
children,  and  you  are  here  on  this  morning 
when  the  home  you  made  for  us  all  is  so 
beautiful  that  I  never  want  to  go  away  to 
heaven/ ' 

"It  will  be  like  this  on  the  other  shore, 
Betty."  He  quoted  from  his  new  gospel: 
"For  every  wayside  rose  there  is  a  rose  idea 
that  blooms  beside  the  River  of  Life." 

She  placed  his  breakfast  before  him  on  a 
small  rustic  table,  and  when  she  sat  down 
again  she  folded  the  useful  hands  that  were 
so  seldom  idle.  The  mother  of  four  children, 
she  was  only  twenty-five,  and  she  had  the 
light,  quick  step,  the  merry  laugh  and  the 
ready  blush  and  tears  of  a  girl.  They  had 
so  many  thoughts  and  memories  in  common, 
and  there  was  only  this  one  day  in  the  year 
in  which  to  share  them. 

"You  remember  what  Dr.  True  used  to 
say,  Johnny,  'People  can  be  sick  any  time, 
but  my  apple-tree  blooms  but  once  a  year.' 

160 


THE    HOME    ON   THE    BORDER 

There  are  such  a  lot  of  things  to  be  done,  but 
I  am  not  going  to  do  them  to-day." 

In  the  happy  hours  that  followed  Johnny 
went  about  the  orchard  pinching  back  buds, 
removing  suckers,  cutting  out  superfluous 
and  aspiring  twigs,  to  keep  the  trees  headed 
low  and  open  to  the  sun.  He  got  a  scythe 
and  mowed  the  grass,  and  told  Betty  not  to 
have  it  raked  away.  It  would  soon  disappear 
in  the  new  growth,  and  as  it  decayed  some- 
thing from  it  would  be  washed  into  the  soil 
that  would  paint  the  fruit  in  the  colors  of 
ruby  and  gold. 

"There  wrill  be  company  this  afternoon, 
Johnny.  We  have  a  party  every  day  while 
the  trees  are  in  bloom.  People  come  miles 
from  the  new,  bare  clearings.  I've  made  a 
bushel  of  maple  sugar  and  nut  cookies.  On 
Sunday  we'll  have  church.  David  reads  from 
the  Bible,  and  we  sing  the  old  hymns." 

She  asked  Johnny  to  bring  out  the  big  table 
so  they  could  have  dinner  in  the  orchard. 

"It  was  Mrs.  Blennerhasset  who  taught  us 
the  pleasure  of  eating  out  of  doors.  We  used 
to  row  down  to  Isle  le  Beau  to  have  straw- 
berries and  cream  on  the  lawn.  Used  to! 
Oh,  Johnny,  I  can't  believe  that  our  dear 

161 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Queen  of  the  Fairy  Isle  has  been  gone  five 
years,  and  is  poor  and  in  dreadful  trouble. 
Do  people  blame  them  for  being  mixed  up 
in  Aaron  Burr's  treason?" 

"No,  Betty.  Every  one  who  knew  them  is 
sorry  they  were  deceived  and  ruined.  The 
island  is  still  theirs.  They  should  come  back 
and  live  among  the  friends  who  love  and 
trust  them." 

"We   never   could   understand   it.      Burr 
was  under  the  cloud  of  the  duel  with  Hamil- 
ton, and  had  used  and  betrayed  old  friends 
before  he  came  out  to  Marietta.     But  he  daz- 
zled every  one  with  his  plan  for  a  colony  far 
down  the  Mississippi  that  was  to  make  poor 
settlers  rich.     You  know  how  generous  the 
Blennerhassets  were.     He  got  them  to  use 
their  money  to  build  a  fleet  of  boats  at  Ma- 
rietta, and  to  outfit  them  for  what  was  a 
treasonable  military  expedition.     Then  war- 
rants were  out.     Mr.  Blennerhasset  and  hun- 
dreds of  young  men  had  to  fly.     A  search 
party  went  over  to  Isle  le  Beau.     Drunken 
militia  from  Virginia  camped  on  the  lawn, 
tore  up  the  gardens,  wrecked  the  furnishings, 
and  even  shot  holes  through  the  hall  ceiling 
into   Mrs.   Blennerhasset' s  bedroom,   to  try 

162 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

to  frighten  her  into  betraying  her  husband. 
Colonel  Cushing  got  a  flatboat  and  smuggled 
her  and  the  children  away  on  a  bitter  Decem- 
ber night.  What  misery !  And  the  author  of 
it  all  was  never  punished." 

This  was  a  thing  upon  which  Johnny  had 
often  pondered.  The  wicked  had  fled  when 
no  man  pursued. 

"Yes,  Betty,  he  is  being  punished  every 
hour.  He  is  living  in  exile,  despised  and  for- 
saken. Stripped  of  friends,  honor  and  op- 
portunity, his  life  can  end  only  in  poverty 
and  neglect.  It  must  be  punishment  enough 
for  a  man  of  evil  and  selfish  ambitions  to  fail, 
and  then  to  have  to  live  out  the  length  of  his 
days  in  his  own  company." 

"Oh,  that  is  true!"  She  listened  as  to  the 
voice  of  some  old  Hebrew  prophet.  And  as 
she  never  had  before,  she  understood  John- 
ny's compensation.  He  might  dwell  with  the 
beasts  of  the  fields,  but  in  what  blessedness 
and  peace  he  would  live  with  himself  to  the 
end !  Presently  she  asked :  "The  house — that 
fairy  palace?     Is  it  gone,  too?" 

"No,  that  looks  much  the  same  from  Bel- 
pre.  A  man  from  Kentucky  rents  the  farm 
from  Colonel  Cushing,  and  comes  with  slaves 

163 


JOHNNY    APPLES  EED 

every  summer  to  grow  a  crop  of  hemp.     But 

from  October  to  April  the  place  is  deserted. 

rfcies  '  -  young  people  still  go  over  to  gather 
the  nuts." 

'  I  wish  Mrs.  Blennerhasset  could  know 
that.  She  was  so  good  to  us — so  eager  to 
give  us  pleasure.  I  am  keeping  the  May- 
queen  gown  she  gave  me  for  my  wedding, 
for  Mary.  Johnny,  I  wish  we  could  take  the 
children  to  the  island.  They  cannot  go  into 
the  forest  here;  but  there,  with  no  wild  ani- 
mals larger  than  squirrels,  they  could  wander 
all  day." 

That  island  of  refuge !  There  in  the  wave- 
washed  woods  of  Isle  le  Beau,  where  Indi- 
ans never  stopped,  was  a  place  of  safety  :  t 
flying  people  for  whom  there  would  not  be 
room  in  the  few,  small  forts. 

When  Betty  went  into  the  house  to  pre- 
pare dinner,  Johnny  was  reminded  by  coax- 
ing voices  and  tugging  little  hands  that  it 
was  time  to  go  'round  the  world.  This  was 
a  custom  begun  when  Mary  was  two  years 
old.  With  the  littlest  baby  on  his  back, 
Johnny  always  took  them  around  the  high- 
walled  home-world  of  several  acres,  showed 
them  wonders  that  no  one  else  could  find, 

164 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

and   brought   them  back   to   mother   in    an 
hour. 

There  was  a  ruby-throat  among  the  honey- 
suckles that  clambered  over  the  stoop,  in- 
quiring about  when  there  would  be  coral 
flagons  of  nectar.  Although  few  were  in 
bloom,  Johnny  named  and  described  the  com- 
ing blossoms  of  the  flowering  annuals  that 
bordered  the  graveled  path  to  the  spring- 
house.  Water  gurgled  about  the  milk  and 
butter  crocks.  It  would  talk  and  laugh  and 
play  leap-frog  all  the  long  way  to  the  ocean. 
Minnows  darted  in  the  pool.  A  toad  hopped 
out,  blinking,  from  under  the  willows.  A  big 
green  frog  went  "plunk!"  into  the  creek  under 
a  sparkling  fountain  of  spray.  The  trees, 
the  flocks  of  fleeces  in  the  blue  sky,  the  ferns 
that  fringed  the  bank,  and  even  the  children 
all  stood  on  their  heads  in  the  water. 

They  stalked  the  troops  of  fairies  who  lived 
in  the  ferns,  but  those  gay  and  clever  little 
people  were  not  to  be  caught.  Then  on  all- 
fours,  like  bear  cubs,  they  went  around  the 
picket-fence  equator,  under  a  tangle  of  shrub- 
bery that  was  full  of  nests.  They  saw  a  chip- 
munk, and  then  they  didn't,  so  quick  that 
they  batted  their  eyes.     They  listened  at  the 

165 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

grass-ball  nest  of  a  field-mouse  that  was 
packed  with  squeaking  babies  no  bigger 
than  bumblebees.  There  were  armored  and 
skurrying  little  beetles,  furry  pussies  of  cater- 
pillars that  stopped  to  have  their  backs 
stroked,  and  garden  spiders  spinning  their 
fairy  wheels.  And  up  above,  from  Johnny's 
shoulder,  another  world  was  to  be  seen  that 
was  all  flowers  and  butterflies. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  on  the  grass  in 
the  orchard  and  watched  the  bees  visiting 
the  apple-blossoms,  and  carrying  their  bags 
of  honey  home  through  the  tiny  doors  of  their 
street  of  straw  hives.  The  chicken-yard  had 
to  have  a  call,  and  every  one  took  turns  in 
the  swing  under  the  arbor  of  fox -grapes. 
Johnny  had  a  lump  of  salt  in  his  pocket  to 
coax  the  cows  to  the  bars,  so  the  calves  could 
be  petted,  and  apples  for  his  horse  that  was 
resting  in  the  pasture. 

The  Little  Corporal  had  a  high-fenced  in- 
closure  to  himself,  and  for  all  his  royal  state 
bleated  like  a  lamb  in  his  lonely  exile.  They 
stayed  there  a  long  time  to  comfort  him  with 
handfuls  of  clover.  Then,  squealing  like  the 
fat  little  pink-and-white  pigs  in  the  pen, 
they  scrambled  through  a  plumed  and  tufted 

166 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

hedge  of  lilacs  and  snowballs.  They  had  a 
drink  from  the  mossy,  splashy  bucket  at  the 
well,  under  pink  banners  of  apple  bloom,  and 
there  they  were  at  the  stoop  again.  It  was 
noon  by  the  mark  on  the  new  floor  of  broad, 
white  maple  boards,  and  mother  was  blow- 
ing a  beautiful  blast  on  the  horn  to  call 
father  from  some  place  outside  the  world  to 
a  picnic  dinner. 

In  the  afternoon  they  were  all  out  in  the 
orchard,  the  children  romping  with  the 
puppy  on  the  grass,  Betty  shamelessly  idle, 
and  Johnny,  propped  on  his  elbows,  reading 
from  his  other  book,  or  just  listening  to  the 
talk  and  laughter.  How  beautiful  it  was — 
how  peaceful  and  sweet,  this  little  tiring- 
room  of  Paradise  where  a  happ}^  family  was 
having  a  foretaste  on  earth  of  the  joys  of 
eternity.  It  seemed  incredible  that  this 
lovely  and  innocent  sanctuary  should  ever 
be  violated  by  the  passions  of  men. 

By  and  by  a  neighbor  whose  new  cabin 
stood  in  a  snake-fenced,  stump-littered  clear- 
ing two  miles  away,  was  left  at  the  gate  by 
her  husband  on  his  way  to  the  mill.  Alary, 
who  was  always  bursting  with  eager  friend- 
liness, reached  up  a  plump  little  hand. 

12  167 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  'round  with  me 
and  Johnny?" 

"No,  dear.  Miz  Varnum,  if  you  don't 
mind,  ma'am,  I'd  just  like  to  set  and  look 
a  spell.  Them  apple-trees  air  mighty  han'- 
some." 

Johnny  told  her  that  there  would  be  trees 
in  the  nursery  down  the  creek  bank  that 
David  would  select  and  help  them  to  set  out 
properly  in  the  fall.  Betty  promised  to  save 
flower  and  garden  seeds  for  her.  When  oth- 
er visitors  came  she  and  Mary  served  the 
cookies,  and  spicy,  pink  sassafras  tea  in  the 
blue  cups  in  the  orchard. 

Before  sundown  the  guests  were  gone.  The 
children  were  fed  and  tucked  into  trundle- 
beds  in  the  wing  that  had  been  added  to  the 
cabin.  The  still  and  odorous  dusk  folded 
softly  like  a  perfumed  garment  about  that 
little  home  of  peace  and  love. 

David  came  in  from  the  fields.  While 
Betty  moved  about  busily  in  the  firelight,  get- 
ting supper,  he  began,  with  absorbed  pleas- 
ure in  the  task,  the  serious  education  of  the 
sheep-dog.  First  he  must  have  a  name,  and 
learn  to  obey  instantly  when  called.  With 
duties  around  the  imperial  person  of  the  Little 

i63 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

Corporal,  it  was  found  that  no  name  would 
do  but  Old  Guard.  David  remarked  that  he 
must  go  out  after  supper  to  put  the  ram  in 
the  barn  and  lock  the  gate. 

They  were  at  the  table,  which  was  spread 
with  every  kind  of  good  food  that  a  well- 
kept  farm  afforded,  when  an  old  Indian,  a 
figure  of  ferocity  that  was  like  an  apparition 
from  Johnny's  dreams  of  horror  of  the  night, 
appeared  at  the  open  door  and  demanded 
something  to  eat. 

"Get  out!"  David  jerked  a  horse -pis- 
tol from  the  chimney  -  shelf.  The  Indian 
did  not  move,  but  glared  hungrily  at  the 
table. 

They  were  all  on  their  feet.  Betty  had 
gone  white  and  trembling,  but  pity  was 
stronger  than  fear. 

"David,  won't  you  let  me  give  the  poor 
old  man  something?     Please,  dear." 

"That  dirty,  drunken  savage!  Sit  down, 
Betty.     Get  out!     Begone  with  you!" 

Johnny  burned  with  sorrow  and  indigna- 
tion. Here,  in  the  last  extremity,  was  the 
Shawnee  brave  who  had  loaned  him  the 
beautiful  painted  canoe,  made  of  birch-bark 
from  the  far  shores  of  Lake  Huron,  for  his 

169 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

first  voyage  down  the  Muskingum.  There 
was  no  time  to  use  this  personal  plea  now, 
but  only  for  the  soft  answer. 

"He  may  be  drunk,  David,  but  he  is  starv- 
ing, too,  and  dangerous  as  a  wolf."  He 
turned  to  the  Indian  and  tried  to  reach  the 
crazed  brain  by  speaking  in  the  man's  own 
dialect.  "  Black  Arrow,  you  know  me — 
Logan's  brother.  I  have  slept  with  you  un- 
der one  blanket.  I  have  food  in  my  pouch. 
Go  up  to  the  trail  and  I  will  fetch  it  to 
you." 

In  the  delirium  of  the  famished  the  man 
only  stared  at  him,  drew  his  knife  and  lurched 
toward  the  table.  David  fired.  The  sav- 
age turned  then  and  staggered  out  of  the 
house,  to  be  lost  at  once  in  the  dense  shad- 
ows of  the  shrubbery.  The  children,  startled 
from  sleep  by  the  shot,  ran  from  their  beds. 
Betty  was  down  on  the  hearth  with  them, 
hushing  their  frightened  crying. 

As  in  a  nightmare  it  seemed  to  take  hours 
to  find  and  light  a  lantern.  When  Johnny 
and  David  stood  on  the  stoop  with  the  door 
shut  behind  them,  the  silence  of  the  soft 
spring  night  was  stabbed  through  and  through 
with  a  single,  piteous  bleat. 

170 


THE    HOME    ON    THE    BORDER 

The  Indian  lay  dead  in  the  sheep-pasture. 
Beside  him  was  his  wet  knife,  and  the  Little 
Corporal  with  a  dark  stream  flowing  from  the 
wound  in  his  neck. 


VIII 


TRAGEDY 


HJFTER  the  outbreak  of  the  early 

spring  the  Indians  fell  into  a 

sullen  apathy  from  which  it  was 

;j  difficult   to   arouse   them.     All 

fl  summer  Johnny  labored  among 

g^Jj  them  in  a  spiritual  atmosphere 


that  was  like  a  hot  and  humid  day.  But, 
living  in  large  groups  as  they  did,  it  was 
easier  to  help  them  than  to  serve  the  same 
number  of  scattered  white  people. 

To  settlements  as  distant  as  Marietta  he 
sent  Logan  for  cattle,  seeds  and  plows;  and 
Piqua  supplied  teachers  who  could  turn  fur- 
rows, yoke  oxen,  make  harnesses  of  ropes  and 
rawhide,  and  build  rail  fences  and  corn-cribs. 
Then,  as  the  corn  ripened,  the  outlook  be- 
came brighter.  In  October  there  was  better 
feeling,  and  more  food  stored  for  winter  in 
the    Indian   country   of   northwestern   Ohio, 

172 


TRAGEDY 

than  for  many  a  year.  No  fresh  reports  or 
trouble  had  come  from  the  Wabash  Valley, 
where  Tecumseh  and  The  Prophet  had  their 
armed  camp  to  defend  the  lands  of  the 
Miamis  from  a  proposed  government  survey. 
His  heart  high  with  hope  of  better  days 
Johnny  made  a  last  round  of  the  new  nur- 
series and  then  went  east  with  the  hunters. 

The  battle  of  Tippecanoe  was  forced  by 
General  Harrison  at  an  opportune  moment 
in  November.  But  so  long  did  it  take  news 
to  travel  from  Indiana  Territory  that  Pitts- 
burg did  not  hear  of  the  event  for  a  month. 
With  that  came  word  of  the  violent  and  con- 
tinued earthquake  shocks  in  the  Mississippi 
and  Ohio  valleys.  The  Prophet  seized  upon 
these  disturbances  to  enrage  the  superstitious 
Indians.  His  frenzied  eloquence  filled  the 
woods  with  painted  runners  to  the  Gulf,  to 
dance  the  Lakes  dances  and  inflame  tribes  to 
fight  for  their  lost  lands. 

Johnny  was  then  far  up  the  Allegheny 
Valley,  struggling  through  the  drifted  glens 
to  reach  the  cider  -  mills,  and  heard  nothing 
of  these  menacing  matters  until  he  brought 
in  his  seeds.  The  band  that  he  joined  on  the 
Great  Trail  had  dwindled  to  a  dozen  dis- 

173 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

couraged  old  men.  The  young  braves  had 
gone  back  early  in  the  winter  to  take  part  in 
whatever  exciting  business  was  afoot.  So 
far  as  they  knew,  the  explosion  had  spent  it- 
self, and  there  would  be  no  war  unless  the 
British  gave  the  word. 

The  night  was  sharp  and  clear  when  he 
lay  down  by  the  camp-fire  for  a  few  hours  of 
much-needed  sleep.  But  suddenly  they  all 
sprang  to  their  feet  in  alarm.  The  stars  had 
vanished,  and  the  hushed  air  was  filled  with 
a  suffocating,  sulphurous  vapor  that  made 
the  flames  shoot  up  in  long  streamers  and 
burn  blue.  Then  the  earth  heaved  with  a 
vast  but  gentle  movement,  as  if  sighing  in  its 
sleep.  Trees  crashed  all  around  the  camp, 
a  mile  of  caving  bank  thundered  into  the 
creek,  and  water  swept  in  a  storm-lashed  flood 
across  a  marsh  to  their  feet.  Wolf -packs 
howled,  and  flying  clouds  of  water -fowl 
screamed  in  the  awful  darkness.  It  was  as  if 
all  nature  was  in  a  state  of  dissolution. 

No  shock  had  been  felt  so  far  east  before. 
This  lasted  less  than  a  minute,  but  it  trans- 
formed the  Indians  into  such  primitive  hu- 
mans of  brute  fear  and  ferocity,  with  con- 
torted limbs   and  bloodshot   eyes,   as  must 

174 


TRAGEDY 

have  inhabited  an  antediluvian  world  of 
monsters.  For  an  hour  they  went  through 
horrid  rites  to  appease  the  anger  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  And  even  more  deeply  was  Johnny 
shaken.  What  times  were  these — what  por- 
tents of  disaster! 

He  had  long  believed  that  one  who  lives  in 
solitude  and  self-denial  might  see  heavenly 
visions,  and  have  that  speech  with  angels  which 
is  heard  within.  Now,  as  he  lay  wide-eyed  in 
the  restored  tranquility  of  the  night,  lifting  up 
his  heart  in  prayer  for  guidance,  he  thought  he 
saw  Mary  Lake — not  here  in  this  wild  camp, 
but  in  Betty's  distant  home,  bending  over 
Betty's  bed.  Then,  a  wraith-like  shape  that 
wavered  in  a  bleak  wind,  she  opened  the  door 
and  called — the  old  signal  for  help  in  the  emer- 
gencies of  sickness — and  from  that  dim  room 
behind  her  came  the  sound  as  though  a  fright- 
ened child  sobbed  in  her  sleep. 

Johnny  roused  the  Indians.  He  had  had 
a  message  and  must  go  at  once.  They  must 
take  his  seeds  to  Chief  Crane  at  Sandusky, 
and  let  him  have  their  best  pony  and  a  pack- 
age of  warrior's  bread.  In  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  he  was  riding  in  midnight  darkness  over 
the  Great   Trail.     After  crossing  the   Mus- 

i75 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

kingum,  and  with  only  a  pocket  compass  for 
a  guide,  he  plunged  into  the  trackless  forest. 
It  was  after  nightfall  of  the  fourth  day  that 
he  dropped  from  the  spent  and  mired  pony 
at  the  door. 

Within  the  lighted  house  Old  Guard  whined 
to  be  let  out  on  this  intruder.  He  leaped  like 
a  wolf,  and  had  to  be  called  off,  when  Betty 
let  Johnny  in.  She  stood  there  alone  with 
a  shotgun  that  fell  from  her  shaking  hands. 

"You  frightened  me.  I  thought  it  was  an 
Indian.  So — so  foolish  of  me.  The  Indians 
are  so  quiet  now  that  David  went  down  to 
Chillicothe.  He  has  raised  a  militia  com- 
pany, and  will  get  his  captain's  commission 
from  Governor  Meigs.' ' 

At  once  she  was  all  concern  for  Johnny, 
fetching  dry  socks  for  his  half -frozen  feet, 
and  a  bowl  of  hot  mush  and  milk.  He  asked 
the  usual  questions  about  the  children,  who 
were  asleep,  and  then  waited  in  silence  for 
her  to  recover  her  self-control.  In  mending 
the  fire  she  stooped  with  such  difficulty  that 
he  took  the  tongs  from  her.  At  that  she 
dropped  to  the  hearth,  and  against  his  knees 
sobbed  out  the  terror  that  had  broken  her 
courage. 

176 


TRAGEDY 

"  D-David  wouldn't  have  left  me  for  that — ■ 
now.  He  was  obliged  to  go,  to — to  fetch  a 
doctor — to  help  me.  We  didn't  think — I'd 
need  help — so  soon.  I  cried  for  Aunt  Mary 
Lake.  She'd  come  if  she  could,  Johnny.  I 
was  afraid  I  might  die — and  the  children  be 
left  here — alone." 

''She  called  me!"  His  voice  was  hushed 
with  the  wonder  and  glory  of  the  vision  that 
had  brought  him  here.  He  told  Betty  about 
it  as  he  lifted  her  to  the  bed.  "I  am  going 
back  to  a  sugar-camp  to  get  an  Indian  wom- 
an. Dr.  True  says  that  some  old  squaws 
can  beat  him  at  this  kind  of  big  medicine. 
Old  Guard  is  a  regiment  in  himself.  He 
knew  before  he  was  born  that  it  would  be  his 
duty  to  protect  something.  Put  up  the  bars 
and  go  to  sleep." 

On  the  return  journey  the  horse  that  he 
took  from  the  stable  carried  double.  The 
ancient  and  hideous  dame  had  come  unwilling- 
ly, and  only  on  the  promise  of  a  horse-load 
of  potatoes,  pork  and  apples;  but  when  she 
saw  Betty  her  black  eyes  sparkled  with  pro- 
fessional pride,  and  she  spoke  tenderly  enough 
in  her  soft  Shawnee  tongue. 

11  Pretty  squaw!     Her  all  right  now." 

177 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Johnny  was  glad  that  there  were  things  to 
be  done — animals  to  be  fed,  cows  to  be 
milked,  wood  and  water  to  be  fetched,  and 
scared  children  to  be  reassured,  kept  out  of 
doors  and  told  something  of  the  sacred  mys- 
tery of  birth. 

"You  must  be  quiet  and  happy.  There's 
a  little  angel  hovering  over  this  house,  try- 
ing to  come  down  to  earth  to  be  a  brother 
or  sister  to  you.  Mother  will  be  in  there, 
waiting,  until  God  lays  the  darling  little  bit 
of  a  baby  in  her  arms." 

After  an  Indian  camp-fire  dinner  in  the 
barn-lot,  and  a  romp  in  the  haymow,  the 
three  little  boys  went  to  sleep  and  Mary 
covered  them  warm  with  the  sweet-smelling 
hay.  Leaving  Old  Guard  on  duty,  she  and 
Johnny  went  a  half-mile  down  the  creek  to 
the  nursery.  To  the  child  who  could  count 
on  her  dimpled  fingers  the  few  times  that 
she  had  been  taken  out  of  the  home  inclos- 
ure,  this  was  thrilling  adventure.  Back  from 
the  gravelly  margin  of  the  stream  stretched 
a  flood  bank  that  was  covered  with  a  low 
growth  of  leafless  willows  and  alders,  and 
last  year's  tall,  rusty  ferns.  The  thicket 
closed  behind   them,   and  left  no   trace   of 

178 


TRAGEDY 

their  passage  when  they  crossed  it  to  the 
higher  ground  that  sloped  steeply  up  to  the 
forest-screened  trail. 

In  a  natural,  under-washed  bend  of  the 
bluff,  and  behind  a  tall,  stake-and-brush  fence 
that  was  woven  with  the  living  cables  of  fox- 
grapes,  the  nursery  was  concealed  from  all 
but  its  canopy  of  gray  sky.  Bursting  with 
delight,  but  noiselessly  as  any  squirrel,  for 
Johnny  had  whispered  that  this  was  a  secret 
place,  Mary  scrambled  up  the  stout  trellis 
and  dropped  near  orderly  rows  of  apple- 
twigs.  In  every  settled  district  in  Ohio 
Johnny  now  had  these  forest  fastnesses,  of 
which  the  Indians  knew  nothing,  where  fly- 
ing people  might  find  temporary  safety.  He 
had  a  purpose  in  bringing  the  child  here,  but 
must  not  frighten  her. 

"Mary-go-' round,  father  knows  about  this, 
but  might  not  think  of  it,  or  be  at  home 
when —  Tell  mother  what  a  fine  place  it  is  for 
hiding,  so  if  she  ever  wanted  to  take  you  all 
away — in  a  hurry — " 

Mary  nodded  with  gay  understanding.  To 
a  child  it  is  the  happy  impulse  of  any  moment 
to  want  to  go  somewhere  else  in  a  hurry.  She 
would  never  have  her  mother's  delicate  beauty 

179 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

nor  the  gentle  sweetness  that  won  the  heart 
and  made  it  ache.  But  a  friendly,  helpful, 
cheerful  little  person  in  a  brown,  butternut- 
dyed  cloak,  squirrel-skin  hood,  and  red  knitted 
stockings  and  mittens,  she  flitted  about  like 
a  winter  robin  while  Johnny  went  over  the 
ground  foot  by  foot,  to  make  sure  there  were 
no  snake-holes. 

The  squaw  was  gone  when,  on  the  third 
day,  David  burst  into  the  house  with  an  ashen 
face  and  hoarse  voice.  "The  Indians  have 
broken  out  again.  The  woods  are  full  of 
murdering  bands.     Fetch  the  children !" 

He  wrapped  Betty  and  the  day-old  babe 
that  lay  on  her  breast  in  the  bed-clothing, 
swept  them  up  into  his  arms,  and  raced  down 
the  frozen  lawn  to  the  creek  bank.  While 
the  children  were  scrambling  into  outer  gar- 
ments, Johnny  ran  with  the  bearskin  rugs, 
to  be  laid  in  the  rowboat  and  over  mother 
and  child.  Mary  sat  by  them  to  keep  the 
coverings  tucked  in,  and  David  took  the 
oars.  Johnny  followed  in  the  big  canoe  with 
the  little  boys  and  Old  Guard. 

Torn  veils  of  fine,  dry  snow  streamed  be- 
fore a  westerly  wind  that  sent  them  scudding 
down  the  swollen  creek.     In  an  hour  they 

180 


TRAGEDY 

reached  the  stockade  in  a  tiny  settlement  on 
the  Scioto,  into  which  frantic  people  were 
gathering.  Johnny  helped  carry  Betty  up  the 
bluff  and  into  a  blockhouse,  where  she  would 
at  least  have  the  care  of  women.  No  doctor 
could  be  spared  from  the  small  capital, 
where  there  was  much  sickness.  As  long  as 
he  lived  he  never  forgot  how  she  lay  with  the 
wee,  downy  face  of  the  gasping  infant  pressed 
to  her  breaking  heart. 

He  had  left  her — to  suffer  this.  How 
would  it  be  with  him  if  she  perished? 

He  spent  a  week  driving  down  cows  and 
taking  boat  and  wagon  loads  of  provisions  to 
the  log  fort.  David  remained  in  command, 
and  half  the  men  returned  to  cultivate  the 
fields  and  protect  the  deserted  homes.  A  few 
were  shot  from  ambush  at  their  plows ;  horses 
and  cattle  were  run  off,  and  some  cabins  and 
orchards  burned.  Betty's  baby  died  from 
the  exposure,  and  Johnny  buried  it  under 
the  apple-tree  with  the  low,  roomy  crotch, 
where  she  could  have  the  sad  comfort  of 
seeing  the  short,  grassy  mound  from  the  door- 
way. The  coming  struggle  was  claiming  its 
first,  innocent  victims. 

War  was  not  yet  a  certainty,  and  was,  in- 

1S1 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

deed,  not  declared  until  the  middle  of  June; 
but  troops  had  been  ordered  to  proceed  to 
Dayton  in  May,  to  impress  the  Indians  and 
to  prepare  the  Northwest  for  defense.  John- 
ny went  up  to  Sandusky  for  his  seeds,  and 
spent  the  next  six  weeks  in  Indian  villages 
where  no  work  was  being  done. 

In  the  outbreak  of  early  winter  even 
peaceful  and  industrious  tribes  had  reverted 
to  savagery,  broken  their  plows  and  looms, 
eaten  their  seed  for  this  year's  crops,  and 
slaughtered  their  cattle  for  horrid  feasts. 
Now  they  repented  in  a  bitter  poverty  that 
was  relieved  only  by  thieving  raids  across 
the  border.  Other  tribes  Johnny  found  in 
the  brief  enjoyment  of  a  dreadful  prosperity. 
The  braves  had  new  blankets  and  firearms, 
and  their  villages  were  abundantly  supplied 
with  beef  and  flour.  He  rebuked  them  for 
their  treacherous  folly,  and  refused  to  eat 
anything  of  theirs  except  the  forest  nuts,  and 
the  corn  they  had  grown  with  their  own 
honest  labor. 

The  orchards  that  he  had  planted — apple- 
trees  whose  ripening  fruits  would  be  roasted 
on  their  living  branches — were  in  blossom 
when,  as  if  some  secret  word  was  borne  on 

182 


TRAGEDY 

the  wind,  the  braves  went  westward.  In  a 
week  not  a  warrior  was  to  be  seen  east  of  the 
Miami,  and  the  border  settlers  returned  to 
their  homes.  Since  nothing  would  be  planted 
that  year  but  men,  no  harvests  gathered  be- 
sides souls,  Johnny  rode  out  to  Piqua,  where 
Logan  had  his  seven  hundred  warriors  un< 
arms  to  defend  his  village  and  the  American 
trading-post.  Going  on  dowrn  to  Dayton, 
he  sent  his  seeds  and  tools  to  Cincinnati, 
to  be  forwarded  to  Colonel  Cushing  at 
Belpre,  and  then  turned  to  the  work  of  re- 
lieving suffering. 

The  outlook  was  appalling.  Of  the  army 
that  was  gathering,  only  one  regiment  was 
United  States  regulars.  The  young  pioneers 
of  the  Ohio  militia  and  volunteers  wrere  wholly 
untrained,  and  were  led  by  self-chosen  offi- 
cers, and  they  came  in  the  poor  clothing  that 
they  had  worn  at  their  work  in  field  and 
forest.  They  brought  their  own  arms: 
cheap  shotguns,  rusty  muskets  and  rifles  that 
their  fathers  had  used  in  Mad  Anthony's 
campaign  of  eighteen  years  before,  and  even 
some  flintlocks — sacred  relics  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. Blacksmiths  came  up  from  Cincinnati 
to  mend  these  worthless  weapons,  and  farmers 
13  lS3 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

molded  bullets  and  emptied  their  powder- 
horns  to  supply  ammunition.  Johnny  nursed 
the  sick,  for  teeth  were  chattering  with  ague, 
and  he  scoured  the  country  for  blankets  and 
shoes,  corn  and  pork. 

Yet  this  feeble  force  of  five  thousand  men, 
under  the  leadership  of  a  Revolutionary  vet- 
eran who  was  in  his  dotage,  was  expected  to 
cut  its  way  through  two  hundred  miles  of 
Indian -owned  forests  to  Detroit,  with  five 
times  its  number  of  perfectly  equipped  sav- 
ages hanging  on  the  flanks  and  waiting  for 
orders  from  British  officers  in  Fort  Maiden. 

A  cry  of  fury  and  despair  went  up  from  the 
poor  and  scattered  settlers  on  a  long  frontier, 
a  cry  for  an  army  and  supplies  adequate  to 
the  task,  with  their  own  Indian  -  fighter, 
General  Harrison,  in  command.  But  Wash- 
ington was  far  away,  and  the  peril  of  the  bor- 
der but  an  incident  to  a  nation  unprepared. 
After  gun  and  torch  and  tomahawk  had  rav- 
aged the  country  to  the  Ohio  River,  the  Old 
Northwest  must  defend  itself,  find  the  men 
and  money,  train  its  own  leaders,  and  build 
its  own  fleet  of  green  timber  on  Lake  Erie. 

There  was  one  thing  that  these  young 
pioneers  knew  how  to  do  supremely — how  to 

184 


TRAGEDY 

fell  trees,  and  with  them  build  blockhouses 
and  log  bridges,  and  lay  the  swamps  with 
corduroy.  When  the  word  was  given  the 
axes  rang  up  the  valley  of  the  Miami.  Johnny 
found  Captain  Varnum  leading  his  company 
in  a  mighty  slaughter  of  ancient  timber,  and 
learned  that  Betty  and  the  children  were  on 
the  farm.  Neighbors  were  caring  for  the 
corn  and  cattle.  When  the  fighting  began 
they  would  go  down  to  Marietta. 

"I'll  be  where  the  earliest  news  is  to  be 
had,  and  alarm  the  people  along  the  border 
if  there  is  need,"  Johnny  reassured  him. 

There  was  a  wild  hurrah  of  relief  and  pride 
when  word  went  abroad  that  the  gallant  boys 
had  cut  their  way  into  Detroit.     With  such 
a  feeling  of  security  as  the  Northwest  had 
not  had  in  a  year  and  a  half,  men  returned 
to  their  corn-fields,  never  dreaming  that  this 
strong  key-fortress  could  be  so  speedily  lost. 
But  Johnny  knew.     An  amazing  mistake 
had  been  made.    At  the  rapids  of  the  Maumee, 
finding  the  march  through  the  woods  ham- 
pered by  the  transport  of  supplies,  the  food, 
military  stores   and   medicines   were   loaded 
on  a  sailing-vessel  and  sent  by  water.     The 
exhausted   troops   dropped   in    the   barracks 

185 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

within  the  gates,  only  to  learn  that  war  had 
been  declared  and  that  the  boat  had  been 
captured  by  the  British  on  Lake  Erie.  A 
small  force  of  Ohio  volunteers  was  sent  back 
at  once  to  the  vine-clad  banks  of  the  River 
Raisin  to  meet  and  protect  the  reinforcements 
and  supplies  that  had  been  started  north. 
This  was  ambushed  by  a  band  of  Tecumseh's 
warriors  who  slipped  over  from  Canada. 

At  this  news,  which  struck  consternation 
to  the  hearts  of  the  defenders,  Johnny  sought 
the  colonel  of  the  Third  Ohio  Volunteers. 
A  man  seven  years  younger  than  himself, 
Lewis  Cass  had  come  out  to  Marietta  in  the 
same  year,  to  study  law  with  Governor  Meigs 
and  then  to  ride  the  Muskingum  Valley  cir- 
cuit. Even  at  thirty  he  was  a  ponderous 
young  man  of  heavy  figure  and  large,  smooth- 
shaven,  immobile  face.  His  words  were  few 
and  well  considered,  and  he  had  a  reputation 
for  honesty,  solid  learning,  clear  thinking, 
and  a  quiet,  constructive  patriotism  that 
must  lead  to  some  distinguished  service.  It 
was  the  future  Governor  who  was  destined 
to  transform  the  wilderness  of  Michigan  Ter- 
ritory into  a  modern  state  who  answered 
Johnny's  question  with  deliberation. 

186 


TRAGEDY 

"A  criminal  blunder  has  been  committed, 
and  we  must  pay  for  it.  It  will  take  two 
years  to  overcome  the  mistake.  Get  out, 
Johnny,  and  save  all  the  people  you  can." 

When  Captain  David  Varnum  marched  with 
the  second  relief  party  out  of  the  beleaguered 
fortress,  Johnny  disappeared  in  the  woods 
to  learn  what  he  could  of  the  enemy's  plans 
from  the  native  Indians.  At  Brownstown  he 
found  a  village  of  friendly  Wyandots,  whose 
young  braves  were  out  warning  the  scattered 
families  of  French  trappers  and  scouting  for 
the  American  army.  If  the  fort  was  sur- 
rendered they  were  to  take  the  news  to  the 
valleys  of  the  Maumee,  Miami  and  Wabash. 
Thence  it  could  be  carried  swiftly  to  Dayton 
and  Vincennes.  With  the  Ohio  border  this 
tribe  was  unacquainted,  and  they  could  not, 
in  any  case,  reach  it  in  time. 

"Why?"  Johnny  was  startled. 
Chief  Walk-in-the-Water  drew  a  map  of 
the  head  of  Lake  Erie  in  the  ashes.  Word  of 
a  British  and  Indian  victory  would  be  carried 
by  canoe  to  Sandusky.  From  there  the  run- 
ners would  scatter,  small  bands  striking  the 
border  at  many  points  at  once.  Killing 
and  burning  everything  in  their  path,  they 

187 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

would  make  for  the  crossing-places  of  the 
Ohio  River,  and  stir  up  tribes  to  war  from 
Michigan  to  Alabama.  Braves  from  San- 
dusky were  with  Tecumseh. 

"I  cannot  believe  that!"  cried  Johnny. 
11  Chief  Crane  is  a  stanch  friend  of  the  Ameri- 
cans, and  a  wise  and  honest  man." 

There  was  a  shrug.  The  Grand  Sachem 
was  old.  Many  evil  things  were  done  under 
his  nose,  and  to  much  that  he  saw  he  shut 
his  eyes,  for  he  could  no  longer  hold  the  hot- 
heads of  his  tribe  who  were  all  for  war.  No 
doubt  ample  means  for  carrying  out  this  plot 
were  hidden  near  his  village. 

"Then  I  must  find  and  destroy  them." 

With  a  bag  of  parched  corn  for  food,  and 
a  horse  that  knew  the  narrow  trace  through 
the  jungle  of  the  Black  Swamp  which  stretched 
from  the  Maumee  to  the  Sandusky  River, 
Johnny  slipped  around  the  deserted  shore  of 
the  lake.  Making  a  detour  of  the  populous 
Indian  town,  he  camped  in  the  edge  of  the 
woods  on  a  sandy  point  that  overlooked  the 
wide  entrance  to  the  bay.  Night  after  night, 
in  the  light  of  the  full  moon,  when  the  forest 
was  peopled  with  a  host  of  shifting  shadows 
and  one  more  could  pass  unnoticed,  he  crept 

188 


TRAGEDY 

down  -  shore.  Near  the  landing  -  place  and 
around  the  village  he  searched  the  brush- 
grown  hollows  until  he  found  the  unopened 
cases  of  firearms  and  ammunition.  Not  know- 
ing how  much  time  he  would  have,  and  frantic 
with  fear  for  the  thousands  of  imperiled  peo- 
ple, it  was  all  he  could  do  to  wait  for  the  dark 
of  the  moon.  Then  paddling  cautiously  out 
in  a  canoe,  he  dropped  the  guns  in  deep  water. 
The  powder  he  emptied  in  bog-holes  and  cov- 
ered with  muck,  and  to  the  thirsty  sand  he 
gave  the  kegs  of  fire-water. 

There  was  more  that  he  failed  to  find;  but 
the  loss  of  so  much  would  alarm  and  delay 
the  runners,  and  he  dared  not  risk  discovery. 
Moving  several  miles  to  the  east,  he  lay 
hidden  on  the  lake-shore  trail,  with  his  horse 
saddled  and  tethered  in  a  grassy  glade,  while 
he  lived  on  parched  corn  and  wild  black- 
berries. In  the  long  hours  of  watching  he 
worked  out  the  details  of  the  feat  of  Logan 
wTho,  unaided,  had  fetched  twenty-five  white 
women  and  children  out  of  Fort  Wayne  and 
down  through  a  hundred  miles  of  forest  swarm- 
ing with  hostile  savages,  in  safety,  to  Piqua. 
There  was  more  than  a  chance  that  he  could 
do  that.     Like  the  foxes  of  the  hills,  in  whose 

1S9 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

dens  he  had  slept,  he  knew  the  twists  and 
turns  and  secret  retreats  of  every  wild  way 
in  Ohio. 

The  year  declined  from  the  zenith  and 
drowsed  through  the  long  days  of  August. 
At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  disk  of 
the  dog-star  burned  like  a  little  moon  above 
the  silvery  expanse  of  the  most  placid  of  all 
the  Great  Lakes.  At  noon  the  sun  shimmered 
on  a  blue  field  that  was  seldom  ruffled  by 
storm;  and  it  set  late,  in  splendor,  behind  the 
violet  islands.  Sixteen  hours  a  day  Johnny 
watched  those  low,  wooded  masses  and  rocky 
headlands.  In  crossing  this  wide  body  of 
water  Indians  rested  midway,  and  when  the 
weather  was  clear  a  camp-fire  could  be  seen, 
like  a  flickering  red  star,  low  down  on  the 
water.  But  men  who  turn  into  demons  and 
run  on  the  devil's  errands  stop  for  nothing. 
It  was  out  from  under  a  rising  morning  mist 
that  an  enormous  fleet  of  canoes  appeared 
and  sped  toward  the  bay.  As  they  neared 
the  shore  the  reckless  braves  stood  up  and 
waved  their  arms  in  the  contortions  of  the 
primitive  war-dance.  Some  leaped  over- 
board and  swam  to  the  landing. 

Detroit  had  surrendered! 

190 


TRAGEDY 

Johnny  dashed  into  the  woods  and  leaped 
to  the  saddle.  By  riding  south,  straight  down 
the  Scioto  trail,  he  could  make  sure  of  rescu- 
ing Betty  and  her  children.  But  if  he  did 
that  the  scattered  settlers  along  the  lake 
shore,  and  the  many  people  on  the  nearer 
border  for  a  hundred  miles  southwestward 
from  Cleveland,  would  have  no  warning. 
Massacre  unchecked  would  run  red  to  the 
Great  Crossing  of  the  Muskingum. 

Digging  the  only  pair  of  spurs  he  ever 
owned  into  the  flanks  of  the  horse,  he  galloped 
east.  All  day  he  pounded  through  heavy 
sands  and  struggled  across  the  wide,  marshy 
mouths  of  the  innumerable  waterways.  At 
isolated  cabins  standing  in  corn-fields  and 
orchards  he  called  out  his  message.  It  was 
dusk  when  his  horse  fell  dead  before  a  door 
where  a  family  ran  out  from  a  rude  supper- 
table  at  his  shout: 

"Detroit  has  fallen!  Indians  coming! 
Keep  off  the  trails!  Warn  your  neighbors! 
Take  the  news  to  Cleveland!  A  horse  and 
food!" 

From  a  fresh  mount  he  drank  a  gourd  of 
milk.  A  woman  stuffed  his  pockets  with  hoe- 
cakes.     In  five  minutes  he  was  gone  into  the 

191 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

twilight  aisles  of  the  border  trail.  Thunder- 
ing through  the  sloughs,  and  up  and  down 
the  undulations  of  the  watershed,  he  blew 
blasts  from  a  sawed-off  powder-horn  that 
could  be  heard  a  mile.  With  his  trumpet-call, 
which  sounded  like  the  day  of  judgment,  he 
aroused  cabins  and  settlements  where  people 
slept  with  their  doors  open  in  the  stifling  heat 
of  the  August  night.  Into  the  darkness  and 
into  the  ghostly  light  of  a  late-rising  moon 
they  sprang  from  their  beds.  Many  began 
to  harness  their  oxen  and  horses  to  old  cara- 
vans, and  to  bring  out  their  household  goods, 
but  Johnny  cried: 

"Fly  at  once!  Take  what  food  you  can, 
and  pile  onto  your  horses !  Turn  your  cattle 
and  pigs  loose  in  the  woods !  Hide  the  women 
and  children  in  the  nursery  until  the  Indians 
have  passed!  The  men  must  stay  out  to 
warn  every  family  they  can  reach!  Then 
make  for  the  nearest  stockade  through  the 
wildest  glens  and  swamps!  If  that  is  crowd- 
ed, go  by  night  marches,  afoot,  to  the  Ohio 
River!"  " 

On  through  the  short  summer  night  he 
rode.  In  the  earliest  hours  in  the  morning 
his  horse  flagged  in  his  pace.     He  dragged 

IQ2 


TRAGEDY 

the  saddle  off  and  turned  the  animal  into  a 
grassy  glade  to  give  him  a  chance  of  life. 
At  the  next  cabin,  a  mile  away,  he  captured 
a  half-broken  colt   in  a  pasture.     His  ears 


HE    BLEW    BLASTS    FROM    A    SAWED-OFF     POWDER-HORN 
THAT   COULD    BE    HEARD    A    MILE 

193 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

ringing  with  screams,  a  panorama  of  horror- 
stricken  faces  swimming  before  his  eyes,  he 
raced  on. 

He  saw  the  sick  carried  from  their  beds, 
and  he  herded  families  that,  in  the  moment 
of  panic,  would  have  scattered.  In  an  or- 
chard, her  apron  full  of  windfalls,  he  found 
a  half -foolish  and  palsied  grandmother  who 
had  been  forgotten.  Sweeping  her  up  to 
the  saddle,  he  restored  her  to  the  distracted 
family.  At  a  log  mill  he  ran  into  a  dozen 
farmers  who  were  waiting  for  their  grist,  ten 
and  twenty  miles  from  their  homes.  Par- 
alyzed for  a  moment  by  his  message,  they 
stood  like  dead  trees,  then  leaped  to  their 
horses  and  fled. 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  night  he  heard 
yells  and  saw  the  smoky  flare  of  pine-knot 
torches.  A  bullet  whistled  by  his  head,  and 
his  colt  leaped  as  if  shot  and  sped  like  an 
arrow.  Rising  in  the  stirrups,  Johnny  gave 
the  war-whoop  to  deceive  the  Indians  into 
thinking  him  one  of  themselves.  Cold  sweat 
burst  from  every  pore.  Massacre  and  burn- 
ing had  overtaken  him!  In  a  dawn  of  rose 
and  gold  and  amethyst  he  passed  a  cabin 
whose    smoldering     ruin    was    ringed    with 

194 


TRAGEDY 

charred  corn.  Slain  animals  lay  on  the 
ground,  but  by  some  miracle  the  people  had 
escaped.  But  looking  down  a  small  water- 
way he  heard  triumphant  yells  and  saw  a 
great  volume  of  fiery  smoke  billow  up  from 
the  woods. 

At  that  he  reeled  in  his  saddle  and  ceased 
to  think.  He  was  still  a  trumpet-call — a 
voice  crying  in  a  wilderness  of  nameless  hor- 
rors— but  his  mind  was  lifted  above  con- 
scious thought  in  one  wild  prayer  for  Betty 
and  her  little  brood.  In  this  hour  of  an- 
guish he  remembered  the  pallid  face  and  wide 
blue  eyes  that  the  war -orphaned  child  of 
the  cove  above  the  shipyard  at  Marietta  had 
turned  upon  him.  Now,  in  tortured  fancy,  he 
saw  her  so  again,  but  lying  among  the  ferns 
on  the  creek  bank,  staring  up  at  God. 

It  was  true  that  her  home  lay  on  the  Piqua 
trail,  twenty  miles  within  the  border;  but 
the  beautiful  place  was  widely  known,  and 
even  in  the  first  rush  the  Indians  would  go 
out  of  their  way  to  destroy  it.  Every  farm 
that  he  passed  had  been  swept  by  fire,  and 
ghastly  shapes  lay  on  the  ground.  And  now 
another  messenger  was  abroad — smoke.  In 
the  dead  air  of  a  day  of  humidity  heavy  vapors 

195 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

were  unable  to  rise  above  the  canopy  of  the 
forest.  The  vistas  were  blue  with  the  suffo- 
cating cloud,  and  flights  of  complaining  wood- 
pigeons  streamed  out  to  the  clearer  air  of  the 
hilltops. 

He  had  turned  eastward  on  the  long  home- 
stretch when  he  overtook  Logan  on  horseback 
with  his  ten-year-old  daughter  Ellen  on  a 
pony.  Not  knowing  that  Detroit  had  surren- 
dered the  chief  had  left  Piqua  two  days  be- 
fore to  take  this  child,  who  was  the  apple 
of  his  eye,  to  Chillicothe  out  of  the  perils 
of  savage  warfare.  From  there  he  meant 
to  send  her  on  to  the  family  of  his  foster- 
father,  Captain  Logan,  near  Lexington,  Ken- 
tucky. Now  he  transferred  her  to  Johnny's 
care. 

"My  wife  will  not  leave  her  people,  and 
the  lads  are  braves  who  must  share  the  fate 
of  their  tribe.  Nelly  will  not  delay  you. 
She  can  ride  as  hard  and  fast  as  you.  Take 
her  on  with  you  and  save  your  friends.  I 
will  ride  down  the  border  to  Dayton." 

"Have  you  heard  anything  of  Captain 
Varnum?" 

"Fell  in  a  second  ambush  on  the  River 

Raisin." 

196 


TRAGEDY 

They  gripped  hands  with  the  sense  of  loss 
which  comes  from  a  last  parting. 

As  they  separated  the  dark  father  and 
child  faced  each  other.  "Farewell,  Nelly. 
The  lodge  will  be  lonely  without  you.  Love 
your  new  home  and  friends.  Grow  up 
white."  Their  looks  clung  to  each  other 
until  the  chief  wheeled  and  galloped  away. 
Their  next  meeting  was  in  the  land  of  the 
Great  Spirit,  for  Logan  was  killed  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  when  scouting  for  General  Har- 
rison. If  this  little  royal  exile  shed  a  tear, 
now,  no  one  knew.  Burying  her  face  in  the 
pony's  long  mane  she  raced  after  Johnny. 

Along  the  smoke-dimmed,  winding  trail  the 
endless  lines  of  motionless  trees  made  the 
shadowy,  inescapable  walls  of  a  labyrinth  seen 
in  a  nightmare.  The  sun  had  begun  to  de- 
cline when  Johnny  swayed  dizzily  on  smelling 
burned  wood  and  roasted  apples.  His  horse 
shied  and  bolted,  leaving  him  on  the  wreck- 
age of  the  wagon-gate  of  Betty's  home. 
Within  the  circle  of  blasted  orchard  trees  the 
field-stone  chimney  stood  above  the  dying 
embers  of  the  house. 


IX 


THE  SAVIOR  OF  THE  REFUGEES 


H1LD  GUARD  shot  out  of  the 
thicket  on  the  flood  bank  when 
|  Johnny  ran  down  the  creek, 
leaped  ferociously,  and  then 
fawned  upon  him  in  frantic 
delight  and  raced  back  to  the 
nursery.  Johnny  put  his  lips  to  the  close- 
woven,  leafy  screen. 

"Betty!  Are  you  all  there?  Safe?" 
His  knees  gave  way  under  him  when  he 
heard  the  breath  of  a  reply.  On  the  other 
side  he  knew  that  she  too  knelt,  thanking 
God  that  he  was  here.  After  a  moment  he 
was  able  to  whisper: 

"Wait.    There  are  some  things  I  must  do." 

He  gave  the  whinnying  pony  a  slap  on  the 

flank  that  sent  him  flying  across  the  water 

and  into  the  woods.     No  grazing  animal  could 

starve,  and  in  summer  it  was  not  likely  to  be 

198 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

attacked  by  wolves.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
painted  savage  who  lay  not  a  hundred  yards 

away,  a  ghastly  thing  with  his  throat  torn 
open  by  Old  Guard,  and  dragged  the  body 
into  the  densest  part  of  the  undergrowth. 
Washing  the  dog's  bloody  muzzle  in  the 
creek,  he  bade  him  run  up  the  slope  and  jump 
into  the  inclosure.  Scrambling  over  the  sway- 
ing trellis,  he  pulled  Ellen  up  after  him. 

Betty  was  crouched  with  the  children  in 
the  cave-like  hollow  at  the  back,  behind  the 
plantation  of  apple-twigs.     Out  of  her  drawn 
and  colorless  face  her  heavily  ringed  eyes 
stared  like  the  unseeing  eyes  of  the  dead. 
But  for  her  terror-stricken  little  people  there 
was  merciful  diversion  in  the  Indian  maid. 
A  gorgeous  tropical  bird  dropping  from  the 
sky  could  not  have  astonished  them  more. 
In  her  petticoat  of  crimson  cloth,  her  elabo- 
rately beaded  moccasin-leggings  of  deerskin, 
and  the  jaunty  blue  jacket  that  dripped  silver 
buttons,  she  looked  to  be  all  that  Johnny 

described  her. 

"This  is  Princess  Nelly  Logan,  of  1  lqua. 

Nothing  but  friendly  and  admiring  looks 
greeted  the  forlorn  and  blameless  child;  but 
the  Princess  Nelly  shrank  back.     She  had 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

seen  such  things  as  must  make  white  people 
turn  with  horror  from  one  of  her  race.  With 
the  face  of  a  stone  image,  but  a  heaving 
breast,  she  stood  aloof  until  Mary-go-'round 
ran  and  laid  a  rosy  cheek  against  her  own  of 
warm  bronze. 

"I  never  had  a  sister.  Let's  be  twin 
sisters." 

"All  right."  There  was  a  tear  that  Mary 
kissed  away.  The  two  little  girls  lay  down 
together  on  a  bed  of  leaves  in  the  cave,  with 
their  arms  around  each  other  like  the  babes 
in  the  woods,  when  Johnny  whispered  that 
they  must  all  go  to  sleep  at  once,  so  they 
would  be  rested  for  travel  at  night.  When 
he  went  back  to  the  screen  with  the  sentinel 
dog,  Betty  followed  him. 

"What — what  has  happened?" 

"Detroit  has  fallen." 

With  a  choking  sound  she  swayed  against 
him.  A  question  about  David  was  on  her  blue 
lips,  but  she  forbore  to  ask  it,  and  Johnny  did 
not  tell  her.  She  could  bear  no  more,  and 
would  need  all  the  hope  and  courage  she  could 
keep  to  sustain  her  in  the  terrible  days  to 
come.  At  this  moment  her  distracted  mind 
must  be  turned  into  safer  channels. 

200 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

"Dear  Betty,  think  of  the  children  you 
must  help  me  save,  and  try  to  sleep,"  he 
begged.  But  when,  staggering  from  the  ex- 
haustion of  he  knew  not  how  many  hours  of 
waking,  he  fell  in  a  limp  heap  at  her  feet,  he 
knew  that  she  would  sit  there  beside  him, 
shuddering,  all  the  waning  afternoon.  Katy- 
dids were  calling  across  the  dusk  when  she 
woke  him  and  gave  him  bread  and  told  him 
the  brief  story  of  their  escape. 

"The  smoke  alarmed  me.  Wood-pigeons 
streamed  out,  complaining,  as  if  the  whole 
border  was  on  fire.  Then  chickens,  pigs 
and  cattle  were  on  the  trail.  I  sent  the  chil- 
dren on  ahead.  The  dog  drove  the  farm 
animals  into  the  woods,  and  I  got  a  basket 
of  food  and  the  children's  shoes.  We  heard 
— things  that  will  ring  in  our  ears  forever. 
When  they  had  burned  the  house  the  Indians 
searched  for  us.  And  after  a  band  went  by 
overhead  Old  Guard  dashed  out  at  some- 
thing— someone — ' ' 

"Don't  think  about  it  any  more."  The 
thought  of  the  death  that  had  almost  tracked 
her  and  hers  to  this  hiding-place  turned  his 
own  heart  to  ashes.  She  did  make  an  effort 
to  think  of  other  things,  and  pointed  to  the 

20I 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

trampled  nursery  in  mute  distress.     At  that 
Johnny  could  find  it  in  him  to  smile. 

"I'm  glad.  Oh,  I  pray  to  God  that  all  my 
nurseries  may  lie  in  ruins  under  the  feet  of 
people  who  escaped  the  fate  of  their  homes 
and  orchards." 

Now  they  must  plan  what  they  were  to  do. 
He  told  her  that  they  might  not  find  safe 
shelter  until  they  reached  the  Ohio.  Once 
across  the  Scioto,  they  could  make  for  Bel- 
pre  through  the  wild  country  which  lay  back 
of  the  valley  of  the  Hocking,  avoiding  the 
river,  the  trails  and  the  settlements.  And  on 
their  way  they  must  rescue  every  one  they 
could.  While  Johnny  went  out  to  find  the 
rowboat,  where  it  was  hidden  among  the 
willows,  Betty  gathered  up  the  food  and 
knotted  the  children's  leather  shoe-strings. 
Then,  looking  at  the  Princess  Nelly,  she 
thought  of  something  that  would  not  have 
occurred  to  the  wisest  man. 

"My  dear!  This  will  never  do!  Have  you 
nothing  plainer  to  wear?" 

Few  backwoods  families  ever  had  anything 
more  than  the  ugliest  and  scantiest  of  cloth- 
ing, and  they  went  barefooted  eight  months 
in  the  year.     This  beautiful  raiment  on  one 


202 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

of  the  feared  and  hated  race  would  a  me 
bitter  resentment,  and  perhaps  violence,  in 
poor  fugitives.  With  loving  compassion  she 
helped  the  little  girl  into  a  linscy  slip  and 
clumsy  shoes,  and  hid  the  offending  splendor 
in  the  small  bundle  of  necessaries  that  she 
carried  on  her  back. 

Johnny  had  them  all  lie  down  in  the  boat. 
Using  an  oar  for  a  rudder  to  keep  the  light 
craft  in  the  shadow  of  the  bank,  he  let  it 
drift  down  the  dark  stream.  The  moon  would 
not  rise  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Before  midnight  they  reached  the  stockade 
on  the  Scioto.  The  settlement  had  been 
burned,  and  the  tiny  fort  was  crowded.  Many 
had  gone  by  to  Chillicothe,  and  more  were 
arriving  every  hour.  One  family  had  been 
overtaken  and  massacred  in  full  view  of  the 
gate.  The  bodies  would  have  to  he  out 
until  morning.  Crying  had  been  heard,  of 
a  child  or  a  panther,  or  perhaps  an  Indian  to 
lure  rescuers  to  an  ambush. 

Telling  a  sentinel  that  he  would  remain 
near  this  crossing  of  trails  as  long  as  people 
continued  to  come,  and  save  all  he  could, 
Johnny  went  down.  He  was  getting  into  the 
boat  when  the  sheep-dog  came  out  of  the 

203 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

undergrowth  with  the  handle  of  a  splint 
basket  in  his  mouth.  Betty  lifted  the  baby 
that  a  doomed  mother  had  pushed  into  the 
brush  as  she  ran,  and  hushed  its  wail  of  hunger 
with  a  bit  of  maple  sugar  tied  up  in  a  ker- 
chief. For  the  first  time  in  that  long  day  of 
horrors  she  found  the  relief  of  tears. 

Johnny  turned  the  boat  into  the  Scioto. 
A  mile  down-stream  he  shot  it  across  to  a 
point  on  the  eastern  bank  where  a  parting 
of  the  hills  was  covered  with  small  swamp- 
timber.  In  late  summer  the  ground  was 
nearly  dry,  but  under  the  low  branches  of  the 
trees  it  was  all  a  tangle  of  pea-vines,  noi- 
some water-weeds,  and  thorny  shrubs.  In  the 
black  jungle  snakes  had  to  be  risked.  Taking 
three-year-old  Jimmy  on  his  back,  and  post- 
ing the  dog  at  the  rear,  he  broke  the  way  to 
a  grassy  opening. 

"Not  here,"  he  signaled.  Plunging  into  the 
woods,  he  mounted  a  grassy  rise  that  was 
covered  with  acres  of  wild  grapes.  The 
scared  and  weary  children  dropped,  sobbing, 
in  the  pitch  blackness  of  the  leafy  tents. 
Wise  little  Ellen  Logan  put  her  hand  firmly 
and  repeatedly  over  every  quivering  mouth, 
and  whispered  that  it  was  dangerous  to  cry. 

204 


SAVIOR    OF   THE    REFUGEES 

With  a  word  of  reassurance  and  orders  to  Old 
Guard,  Johnny  was  gone.  Making  his  way 
back  to  the  stockade,  he  lay  below  the  trail 
with  his  ear  to  the  ground  until  he  heard  the 
beat  of  galloping  hoofs  and  the  rumble  of  a 
wagon.  Pursuit  was  close  behind  this  fleeing 
family  when  he  sprang  to  the  horses'  heads. 

"Jump  out!  Throw  out  your  food!,,  He 
fairly  hurled  them  into  the  brush,  and  lashed 
the  horses  into  a  run  down  the  steep  bank 
and  across  the  ford.  The  shots  that  rang  from 
the  blockhouse  were  returned  by  the  Indians 
as  they  dashed  by  and  plunged  into  the  riv- 
er. In  the  confusion  of  loud  noises,  Johnny 
reached  out  a  hand  and  spoke  to  the  sturdy 
young  German  who  was  comforting  his  weep- 
ing wife. 

"Hermann,  take  your  wife  and  child  down 
to  the  boat  and  stay  there  with  them." 
When  he  had  a  load  of  rescued  people  he  left 
this  first  man  to  watch  the  trails,  and  went 
down  the  river. 

Betty  came  out  of  the  black  camp  with  the 
infant  whose  screams  of  hunger  imperiled 
them  all.  "Is  there  a  woman  here  with  a 
baby?      She   must   give   one  breast   to   this 

motherless  child." 

205 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Dawn  glimmered  in  the  forest  fastness  as 
the  third  boat-load  was  brought  in.  One 
family  had  a  bag  of  meal  and  a  small  iron 
kettle.  A  fire  was  built  in  a  wild-grape  tepee, 
and  by  instalments  enough  mush  was  boiled 
for  thirty  people.  Remembering  that  farm 
animals  were  everywhere  at  large,  Betty  took 
Old  Guard's  long  muzzle  in  her  hands  and 
looked  into  his  intelligent  eyes. 

11  Drive  home  the  cows." 

The  sheep-dog  was  plainly  puzzled;  but 
presently  he  put  his  nose  to  the  ground  and 
trotted  away.  The  sun  was  high  when,  with 
all  the  pride  of  discovery,  he  brought  in  two 
cows  with  dripping  udders. 

For  two  days  and  another  night  the  wom- 
en and  children  lay  hidden,  with  the  dog 
and  one  man  to  guard  them,  while  Johnny 
and  the  other  men  took  turns  in  watching 
the  trails  and  scouring  the  woods.  Every 
hour  exhausted  and  half-crazed  people  were 
brought  in.  Some  came  down  from  the 
stockade,  which  held  only  a  small  supply  of 
food,  and  was  liable  at  any  time  to  be  at- 
tacked in  force.  A  woman  was  found  in  a 
hollow  tree.  Two  children  were  traced  to 
a   blackberry  -  patch,    to    which    they    had 

206 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

been  led  by  the  almost  human  footprints 
of  bears. 

In  the  wild  flight  naked  feet  had  been  cruel- 
ly bruised  and  cut,  so  that  many  could  not 
hope  to  keep  up  on  the  hard  night  marches. 
Ellen  helped  solve  that  problem.  Going  about 
timidly,  she  bathed  the  wounds  and  bound 
them  with  cool  plantain  leaves.  From  a 
horse-blanket  Betty  cut  bag  moccasins  with 
a  hunting-knife,  and  laced  them  about  ankles 
with  strips  from  a  rawhide  harness.  The 
men  fashioned  soles  of  tough  beech  bark,  and 
tied  them  on  with  raveled  hemp  rope. 

More  than  a  hundred  people  followed 
Johnny  on  the  first  night's  march  down  a 
ravine  whose  ribbon  of  bright  water  was 
arched  over  by  phantasmal  sycamores.  Night 
after  night  they  made  their  slow  way  over 
forest-clad  ridges,  through  tangled  slashings 
and  gullies,  and  baffling  mazes  of  laurel  on 
rough  hillsides.  By  day  they  camped  in  wild 
vineyards,  in  deep, brush-grown  pockets  of  the 
hills,  and  in  the  dry  beds  of  ponds  in  the 
middle  of  rustling  marshes.  At  times  war- 
whoops  came  faintly  to  their  ears,  and  along 
some  distant,  elevated  trail  pine-knot  torches 
glimmered  like  fireflies.     When  smoke  from 

207 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

a  burning  cabin  or  settlement  drifted  over 
them,  more  people  would  be  found  huddled 
in  a  cave  or  in  one  of  Johnny's  nurseries. 

Famine  marched  with  them,  although  food 
was  in  abundance.  The  smallest  stream  had 
fish;  the  wild  oats  were  full  of  quail;  myr- 
iads of  water-fowl  skimmed  every  pond ;  and 
flocks  of  turkeys  fed  in  the  oak  and  chestnut 
groves  on  last  year's  withered  acorns  and 
nuts.  But  they  dared  not  fire  a  rifle,  nor 
cook  any  savory  thing  whose  odor  would  be- 
tray them.  Only  in  the  most  hidden  situa- 
tions, indeed,  could  they  venture  to  roast  the 
potatoes  and  corn  which  they  found  about 
the  few  deserted  cabins  that  had  been  over- 
looked by  the  Indians.  The  cows  that  Old 
Guard  drove  in  kept  the  children  alive.  Once 
meal  was  discovered  in  a  half -burnt  mill 
which  had  broken  from  its  moorings  and 
drifted  into  back-water. 

A  small  number  of  people,  able  to  scatter 
and  move  about  freely  by  day,  could  have 
foraged  for  plums,  beaten  out  the  oats,  and 
dug  lily  roots  in  the  marshes.  But  this  fur- 
tive and  flying  company  grew  to  a  small 
army,  and  every  addition  to  the  ranks  in- 
creased the  suffering  and  peril  of  all.     Speech 

208 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

was  abandoned.  They  fell  into  the  silence 
of  fortitude  or  listening  terror,  of  dumb  be- 
wilderment or  dull  misery.  Johnny  had  to 
shorten  the  marches.  On  the  last  night  there 
was  a  journey  of  only  a  few  hours  to  be  made, 
but  that  was  in  the  rough  knobs  of  the  Ohio 
River.  Up  and  down  the  steep  hills,  densely 
wooded  with  oaks  and  hickories,  staggering 
men  carried  limp  children  and  fainting  women 
supported  one  another.  Johnny's  cheering 
word  went  back  to  spur  the  falling  line  to 
another  effort. 

11  Courage  now!  Almost  there!" 
After  a  terrible  hour  they  broke  through  to 
thinner  growth  on  the  crest  of  a  grassy,  spur- 
like ridge.  A  gun-shot  brought  them  to  a 
standstill,  with  such  a  shock  of  cruel  fright 
that  women  and  children  sank  weeping  to  the 
ground. 

"Halt!  Who's  there?"  The  challenge 
came  up  from  below,  where,  at  every  ten  rods 
of  the  three  miles  of  rail  fence  wThich  stretched 
along  the  woods  at  the  top  of  the  farms, 
Belpre  had  posted  a  sentinel. 

"  Johnny  Appleseed  with  refugees." 
Young  Waldo  Putnam  ran  up  from  the 
fields,  and  dropped  his  rifle  when  he  saw  that 

209 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

famishing  host.  "The  Lord  save  us,  John- 
ny !  How  are  we  to  care  for  all  the  perishing 
people  who  are  coming  down  upon  us?  Every 
house  is  full  to  the  ridge-pole,  and  two  hun- 
dred are  living  in  Farmers'  Castle.  We  have 
food,  but  no  shelter." 

"Is  any  one  living  on  Isle  le  Beau?" 

"Not  now.  You  know  Indians  never  stop 
there,  but  the  tenant  took  his  niggers  and  lit 
out  for  Kentucky  like  a  scared  rabbit  when 
the  first  runners  made  the  crossing." 

"We'll  camp  in  the  woods  on  the  lower  end 
of  the  island." 

People  who  had  dropped  were  dragged  to 
their  feet  again.  For  a  mile  the  low  ridge 
ran  across  the  meadows,  dividing  the  farm 
village  into  the  upper  and  lower  towns,  and 
rising  to  a  hundred-foot  bluff  above  the  water. 
They  could  hear  the  rustling  corn  and  smell 
the  laden  orchards,  but  the  scattered  houses 
of  the  long  street  that  fronted  the  river  were 
dark.  Johnny  laid  Betty  in  the  midst  of  her 
spent  children  under  the  cedars.  Almost  fall- 
ing down  the  slope  in  his  haste  and  weakness, 
he  hammered  on  Colonel  Cushing's  door. 

A  strange,  wild  figure,  stricken  with  famine, 
transfigured  by  his  errand,  he  was.     Since  he 


2IO 


SAVIOR    OF   THE    REFUGEES 

left  Dayton  in  May  he  had  been  in  the  wilder- 
ness, in  such  stress  of  mind  and  circumstances 
that  his  dark  hair  had  grown  to  his  shoulders 
and  fallen  about  his  gaunt  face.  His  shirt 
was  in  tatters,  and  because  they  impeded  his 
movements  he  had  cut  his  ragged  trousers 
to  the  knees,  exposing  his  scarred  and  swol- 
len legs  and  bark-sandaled  feet.  The  family, 
startled  from  their  beds  by  what  they  thought 
an  Indian  alarm,  were  not  certain  of  his 
identity  until,  with  a  frantic  cry,  he  crumpled 
up  in  the  doorway. 

"Help  for  starving  people  in  the  cedar- 
grove  on  the  bluff !" 

Doors  flew  open  and  lights  appeared. 
People  boiled  out  of  the  houses  and  the 
timber  chateau  of  Farmers'  Castle  like  bees 
from  hives,  and  swarmed  on  the  beach.  There 
was  a  confusion  of  shouts  and  running  foot- 
steps. Johnny  fainted  from  sheer  relief  when 
he  saw  the  huge  negro,  Kitt  Putnam,  in  the 
van  of  the  stalwart  men  who  started  up  the 
bluff  to  carry  the  helpless  down.  When  he 
came  to  himself,  with  his  head  in  Mrs.  Cush- 
ing's  lap  and  a  cup  of  warm  milk  at  his  lips, 
the  boats  and  the  ferry  were  being  manned, 
and  the  young  girls  of  Belpre,  in  their  light 


211 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

summer  gowns,  were  moving  about  with 
candles,  ministering  to  the  prostrate  crowd  on 
the  sand. 

It  was  near  morning  before  all  were  got 
across.  In  the  fear  that  some  Indian  might 
be  lurking  about,  sentinels  were  posted  at 
the  landing-place.  Family  groups  slept  wher- 
ever they  dropped  in  that  woodland  sanctuary 
— slept  to  waken  late  in  the  day,  to  be  fed  and 
comforted,  and  to  sleep  again.  So  the  scores 
that  Johnny  had  led  to  safety  won  their  way 
back  to  health  and  sanity,  and  to  the  taking 
up  of  their  broken  lives. 

Six  weeks  later  he  returned  to  Belpre. 
Knowing  the  country  as  did  no  one  else,  he 
had  guided  a  force  of  armed  and  mounted 
men  from  the  Ohio  River  settlements,  all  over 
the  region  up  to  Zanesville  and  the  new  town 
of  Columbus,  to  relieve  the  beleaguered  stock- 
ades, bury  the  dead,  and  round  up  the  farm 
animals  in  the  woods.  It  was  incredible  that 
civilized  human  beings  would  ever  re-people 
that  desolated  wilderness;  but  no  other  talk 
was  heard  than  to  fight  it  out,  then  to  go 
back  and  begin  again. 

Such  courage  and  faith  thrilled  Johnny. 
With  autumn  colors  flaming  against  the  sil- 


212 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

very  blue  of  Indian-summer  skies,  it  was  seed- 
time, and  he  must  be  off  to  replant  his  ruined 
nurseries,  in  such  wild  solitude  and  danger 
as  he  had  never  faced  before.  Wolves  would 
increase  and  become  bolder.  There  would  be 
no  friendly  faces  to  greet  him,  no  sheltering 
cabins  except  in  the  few,  defensible  settle- 
ments, no  Indian  camps  on  the  Great  Trail. 
And  he  must  stay  out  nine  months  in  the 
year,  traveling  fast  and  incessantly,  to  keep 
his  plots  from  being  overrun  with  weeds  and 
forest  seedlings. 

His  dark-gray  eyes  burned  with  zeal  when 
he  brought  Mrs.  Cushing  in  haste  to  the  door 
to  assure  him  that  his  seeds  and  tools  had 
come  up  from  Cincinnati.  The  Princess  Nel- 
ly's beautiful,  long-tailed  pony  had  been 
found,  and  Johnny  ran  to  the  mill  to  arrange 
for  Kitt  Putnam  to  be  spared  a  week  to  take 
the  chief's  little  daughter  on  in  state  to 
Kentucky.  Aside  from  Kitt's  special  quali- 
ties, no  escort  was  as  safe  for  woman  or  child 
as  a  negro,  upon  whom  the  most  savage  Indi- 
an looked  with  sympathy  as  a  dark-skinned 
brother  of  misfortune. 

Colonel  Cushing  was  drilling  raw  recruits 
on  the  beach — "licking  these  young  cubs  into 

213 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

shape  so  General  Harrison  can  use  'em,"  he 
explained  to  Johnny.  In  bordering  states, 
and  in  every  far-flung  settlement  of  the  Old 
Northwest,  there  was  grim  determination  to 
overcome  this  paralyzing  disaster.  Here  in 
Belpre  the  new  wheat  was  being  ground; 
wheel  and  loom  hummed  and  clattered  in  ev- 
ery house,  and  grandmothers  and  little  girls 
knitted  in  the  sun  for  the  soldiers.  Pigs 
were  being  fattened;  standing  corn  and  the 
recovered  horses  and  cattle  guarded  in  field 
and  pasture,  and  potatoes  and  apples  gath- 
ered to  store  in  winter  pits. 

Never  had  Johnny  seen  such  a  harvest  of 
apples.  They  lay  in  glowing  heaps  under  the 
trees  of  three  miles  of  almost  continuous 
orchards,  coloring  the  earth  and  perfuming 
the  air.  All  the  old  fall  and  winter  favorites 
were  there — the  Bellflowers  and  Pippins,  the 
Greenings  and  Spies,  the  Seek -no -furthers 
and  Never-fails,  the  Russets  and  Rambos. 
Very  early  in  the  last  century  this  town,  on 
its  rich,  alluvial  meadow,  became  famous  for 
the  cargoes  of  fruit  that  it  shipped  to  New 
Orleans.  This  crop  was  to  have  gone  into 
the  hold  of  the  Comet,  the  amazing  new  steam- 
boat that  went  plunging  and  shrieking  like 

214 


SAVIOR    OF   THE    REFUGEES 

some  fiery  dragon  up  and  down  the  forest- 
walled  floods  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi. 

Johnny's  instant  thought  was  that,  in  the 
matter  of  orchards,  the  river  settlements 
could  now  take  care  of  themselves,  and  after 
the  war  there  would  be  nurserymen  in  the 
larger  towns.  He  was  released  to  work  in 
the  backwoods.  Now  for  an  hour  he  gave 
himself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  strolling  under 
the  trees  which  were  dropping  their  leaves 
in  preparation  for  peaceful  sleep,  and  feasting 
on  the  fruit  in  the  company  of  this  New- 
Englander  of  such  genial  and  sterling  vir- 
tues. They  spoke  of  the  refugees  on  Isle  le 
Beau.  Many  had  already  gone  on  to  friends, 
and  shelter  must  be  found  for  all  before  winter 
set  in.  As  for  the  orphans,  there  would  al- 
ways be  "room  for  one  or  two  more"  under 
Colonel  Cushing's  roof. 

"My  good  wife  and  I  are  getting  on  in 
years,  Johnny,  but  we'll  take  in  all  we  can. 
I  guess  the  youngsters  won't  mind  sleeping 
three  in  a  bed.  There'll  be  a  bed  for  you,  too, 
if  it  turns  my  rheumatic  old  bones  out  on  the 
floor.     What  will  you  do  now?" 

"Go  back.     Begin  again." 

"Hm,  yes,  after  the  war  we'll  all  have  to 
15  215 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

begin  again.  Johnny,  we  meant  to  pay  you 
for  this  bounty  in  one  lump  sum  when  we  sold 
the  surplus  of  this  crop.  Now  we  must  keep 
what  we  have  for  the  army  and  to  feed  home- 
less people.  But  better  days  are  coming. 
When  the  war  is  over  the  East  is  going  to 
break  up  and  move  West." 

Then  the  eager  words  tumbled  out:  "You 
can  pay  me  now  with  a  horse,  a  blanket  and 
a  bag  of  meal.  There  must  be  orchard  trees 
to  set  out  when  these  brave  people  return  to 
their  fire-swept  clearings.  No,"  he  inter- 
rupted the  shocked  protest,  "I  shall  not  starve 
and  the  Indians  will  not  molest  me.  An 
apple-twig  in  his  bridle  protects  my  horse 
from  thieves.  Good-by!  Unless  you  set  up 
cider-mills  so  I  can  get  seeds  down  here,  I 
may  not  see  you  again.  New-comers  will 
pour  into  the  Indian  lands  that  will  be  for- 
feited or  purchased  now,  and  I  must  go  west- 
ward on  the  crest  of  every  new  wave." 

He  gripped  the  hand  of  this  long-time  friend 
and  turned  away  at  once.  So  he  had  parted 
from  David  Varnum  and  Logan.  So,  with  a 
sharper  pang,  he  must  part  from  Betty  and 
miss  from  his  life  the  little  Eden  that  had, 
for  so  many  years,  been  his  heart's  home  on 

216 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

the  border.  Until  the  little  boys  grew  up, 
he  thought,  she  would  be  obliged  to  live  in 
Marietta,  where  David's  people  and  Dr.  True 
would  see  that  she  lacked  nothing.  Except 
in  spirit  he  could  hold  to  no  one.  He  could 
foresee  his  life  as  one  long  story  of  hail  and 
farewell. 

In  a  voice  gone  husky  Colonel  Cushing 
bade  him  Godspeed.  These  bowering  orchards 
were  the  gift  of  this  missionary  of  peace  and 
beauty  and  brotherly  love  who  had  woven 
himself  into  the  very  fabric  of  their  lives. 
Now  they  were  losing  him,  and  to  the  chil- 
dren of  the  third  generation  he  would  be  a 
legend,  his  blossoming  and  fruiting  memo- 
rials benefits  forgot.  With  a  lump  in  his 
throat  and  misty  eyes  he  watched  Johnny 
stride  across  the  fields  and  beach,  and  launch 
a  canoe — watched  until  he  had  leaped  to  the 
landing  and  disappeared  among  the  majestic 
trees  of  Isle  le  Beau. 

That  Fairy  Island!  Its  queen  in  ruined 
exile,  her  white  palace  stood  in  a  stained  and 
battered  beauty.  On  the  weedy  lawn  bare 
patches  marked  the  bonfires  of  vandals.  The 
tall  picket  fence  of  the  garden  was  down,  with 
its  wall-fruit  trees  barked  and  dead.     Behind 

217 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

the  classic  pillars  of  the  curving  verandas 
that  flanked  the  front,  baled  hemp  was  stored, 
inviting  the  accidental  fire  which  destroyed 
the  historic  mansion  on  the  Christmas  eve 
of  that  year.  Within,  the  wainscoted  hall 
had  been  turned  into  a  sleeping -kennel  by 
black  field  laborers.  The  Cushings  and  Put- 
nams  had  rescued  the  spinet,  a  portion  of  the 
library,  and  much  else,  in  a  forlorn  hope  that 
the  owners  would  return  to  claim  them.  But 
here  were  torn  draperies  hanging  from  broken 
windows,  wrecked  furniture,  shattered  mir- 
rors, wanton  bullet-holes,  dishonored  books, 
cobwebs,  dust,  and  the  dissolution  that  comes 
to  the  house  untenanted. 

At  the  end  of  the  two-mile  walk  across  the 
pastures  and  up  through  the  woods  he  found 
Betty  sitting  on  a  fallen  log,  directing  a  group 
of  women  in  cutting  and  sewing  new  gar- 
ments. In  a  secret  closet  of  Mrs.  Blenner- 
hasset's  big  garret  workroom,  where  her  free 
black  servants  had  spun  and  wove  and  fash- 
ioned clothing  for  a  numerous  and  lavish 
household,  some  bolts  of  linen  and  woolen 
cloth  had  been  discovered,  and  a  store  of 
knitting-yarns. 

Betty  was  in  black  for  David.     All  her 

218 


SAVIOR    OF   THE    REFUGEES 

bright  color  was  gone.  Something  of  youth 
had  left  her,  never  to  return,  but  there  was 
in  her  grave  and  gentle  look  the  quiet  forti- 
tude and  decision  with  which  frail  and  timid 
women  often  meet  disaster  and  stand  erect 
under  crushing  burdens.  She  did  not  speak 
of  her  bereavement  at  once,  but  of  busy  days. 
She  had  been  of  use  to  these  poor,  distracted 
women  who  had  never  had  much  to  work  with. 
Then  she  spoke  of  the  happy  children,  who 
had  forgotten  that  time  of  suffering  and  ter- 
ror, and  were  having  an  unforgetable  holiday 
in  the  freedom  and  joy  of  the  woods  of  Isle 
le  Beau. 

Small  fires  were  being  replenished  to  cook 
the  noonday  meal,  and  Old  Guard  was  round- 
ing up  the  scattered  children  who  were  forag- 
ing with  the  squirrels  for  the  falling  nuts, 
when  Johnny  and  Betty  walked  down  to  the 
tapering  point  of  the  island.  Autumn  rains 
had  not  yet  begun,  and  the  River  Beautiful 
was  at  its  lowest  and  clearest,  a  gently  flowing 
current  of  heavenly  blue.  In  the  absence  of 
shipping  it  had  slipped  back  at  once  into  its 
old,  wild  solitude. 

Betty  sat  on  a  rocky  grotto,  so  pale  and 
still,  with  her  chin  cupped  in  her  palm,  that 

219 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Johnny's  heart  went  out  to  her  in  that  early 
passion  of  protecting  love.  He  knew  now 
that  he  must  love  her  forever. 

"Tired,  Betty?" 

"No.     Thinking  of  all  I  must  do — alone." 

"It  will  come  right.  You  will  go  to  Ma- 
rietta soon?" 

"For  the  winter — until  the  war  is  over." 
She  turned  to  him  a  face  of  bright  bravery 
and  high  resolve.  "We  are  going  back. 
David  would  not  rest  in  his  soldier's  grave 
with  his  children  growing  up  in  dependence. 
I  will  let  his  people  help  me  with  seed  and 
tools  and  cattle;  and  that  first  family  you 
rescued  on  the  Scioto  trail  will  go  with  us — 
strong  young  Germans  who  lost  their  all.  I 
have  too  much  land,  and  can  make  it  worth 
while  for  them  to  stay  with  us  for  ten  years. 
We  can  live  in  a  half -faced  camp  the  first 
year.  It  will  be  hard,  but  indeed,  Johnny, 
I  could  not  live  anywhere  else.  The  place 
is  peopled  with  memories.  There  is  a  little, 
lonely  grave.  It  will  be  long  before  we  have 
such  comforts,  and  our  home  will  never  be  as 
beautiful  again,  but — " 

"It  shall  be  as  beautiful.     I  am  going  back 


now." 


220 


SAVIOR   OF    THE    REFUGEES 

She  gave  a  little  cry  of  fright  and  grief. 
Then  her  face  kindled.  "It — it  makes  one 
brave  just  to  look  at  you.  People  tell  me 
it  will  be  so  hard  that  it  may  well  shorten 
my  life/' 

Whatever  his  own  sense  of  coming  sorrow 
and  loss,  he  could  not  but  choose  the  best  for 
her.     "He  who  loseth  his  life  shall  find  it." 

"I  never  understood  that  before — why  you 
have  to  go  back  now,  and  perish  if  you  must." 
After  she  had  eased  her  heart  in  quiet  weeping, 
she  spoke  again.  "There  are  so  many  things 
David  wanted  to  do — give  land  for  a  school- 
house,  have  regular  church  services,  clear  the 
forest  of  wolves  and  breed  sheep,  send  the 
boys  to  the  academy  at  Marietta;  do  all  the 
things  that  are  necessary  to  keep  the  next 
generation  around  us  from  falling  back  into 
rudeness,  ignorance  and  impiety.  He  left 
those  tasks  in  trust  to  me." 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  camp  she  told 
him  that  she  would  have  some  things  of  the 
old  days  to  keep  memory  green.  A  week  be- 
fore the  alarm  she  had  had  an  impulse  to 
gather  up  treasures  of  the  heart — David's 
Bible,  Johnny's  little  rocking-chair  in  which 
she  had  nursed  all  her  children,  Aunt  Alary 

221 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Lake's  cooky-jar,  and  her  wedding-gown  for 
Mary's  great  day  of  happiness,  and  hide 
them  in  the  cave  in  the  nursery.  And  now 
she  had  another — Mrs.  Blennerhasset's  riding- 
habit  of  scarlet  broadcloth  which  had  been 
left  in  the  workroom  closet  for  repairs. 

"I  can  see  that  kind  and  beautiful  lady 
every  time  I  look  at  it — the  Fairy  Queen  who 
had  only  to  wave  her  wand  to  give  every 
one  pleasure.  Out  of  that  I  shall  make  a  cir- 
cular cloak.  The  color  of  it  in  our  soberly 
clad  lives!  As  a  child  I  remember  thinking 
that  no  hour  could  be  so  dark  and  cold  that 
this  glowing  thing  would  not  warm  and 
cheer  it." 

Nearly  twenty  years  afterward,  in  an  hour 
of  darkness,  of  bitter  cold  and  wild  storm, 
Johnny  remembered  these  wistful  words  and 
spread  that  mantle  above  her.  Now,  with  the 
old  look  of  pale  exaltation,  he  parted  from  her 
until  the  war  should  be  ended,  and  crossed 
to  Belpre.  He  spent  the  short  afternoon  in 
preparations  for  departure,  made  a  supper  of 
apples,  and  camped  in  the  cedar-grove  on  the 
bluff. 

Joy  came  with  the  morning  that  was  crisp 
with  a  light   rime  of  hoar-frost.     So  early 

222 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    REFUGEES 

that  no  one  was  stirring  in  the  town,  he  rode 
through  the  fragrant  orchards  and  out  over 
the  Bloody  Way,  to  begin  another  dozen 
years  of  work  that  should  make  that  ravaged 
wilderness  bloom  again. 


X 


FRESH    FIELDS 


DOZEN  years  after  the  close  of 
the  war  Johnny's  new  orchards 
blossomed  and  fruited  in  little 
towns  and  on  well-cleared  farms 
all  the  way  out  to  the  head- 
waters of  the  Miami,  but  John- 
ny was  not  there  to  see  them. 

For  the  thousands  of  people  who  had  come 
to  live  in  the  Ohio  River  Valley  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-five  was  marked 
by  the  completion  of  the  Cumberland  Road 
to  Wheeling,  Virginia,  and  by  the  journey 
to  the  new  West  of  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette. 
It  was  a  triumph  of  pioneer  energy  and  faith 
that  the  nation's  aged  guest  was  able  to  travel 
by  post  from  the  Potomac,  and  then  by  a 
palatial  steamboat  to  St.  Louis.  Banquets 
and  balls  were  given  him  in  river  ports  of 
astonishing   size   and  resources,   and  far  up 

224 


FRESH    FIELDS 

in  Indiana,  at  the  head  of  navigation  on  the 
Wabash,  a  venturesome  settlement  was  made 
in  that  year  and  named  in  his  honor. 

It  was  thus  that  the  floods  of  population 
and  trade  had  fallen  down  the  Ohio  and 
backed  up  the  larger  tributaries.  But  behind 
and  above  these  navigable  streams  the  coun- 
try of  Johnny's  beautiful  labors  was  still 
heavily  wooded  and  thinly  settled,  and  must 
remain  so  until  canals  and  railroads  ended 
their  isolation. 

Even  there,  however,  people  were  living  in 
comfort  and  security.  What  Indians  were 
left  were  confined  to  reservations;  wrild  ani- 
mals wrere  disappearing,  and  little  flocks  fed 
on  a  thousand  hills.  Few  children  were  more 
than  five  miles  from  a  log  school-house,  and 
few  families  farther  than  a  half -day's  journey 
from  a  mill  town  near  which  Johnny  had  a 
flourishing  nursery.  In  the  matter  of  or- 
chards this  region,  too,  could  now  grow  its 
own  supply  while  the  sower  was  off  to  fields 
unsown. 

To  the  people  of  America  a  new  door  of 
dreams  had  been  set  ajar.  With  the  boom- 
ing of  successive  cannon  from  Buffalo  to 
the  Battery,  an  all-water  route  wras  opened 

225 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

through  the  Erie  Canal,  from  the  mountain- 
walled  seaboard  to  the  prairies  and  forests 
that  lay  back  of  Toledo  and  Detroit.    Sailing- 
vessels   and   steamers   from   the   old   Indian 
trading-posts  around  the  Great  Lakes  waited 
at  the  Niagara  docks  to  transfer  their  wild 
cargoes  of  peltries,  maple  sugar,   tan -bark, 
potash,  dried  huckleberries  and  boiled  honey, 
to  canal  barges.     They  returned  loaded  to 
the  guard-rails  with  eager  emigrants  and  all 
their  worldly  goods.     From  the  boat-yards 
of  Cleveland,  and  from  the  orchards  and  corn- 
fields of  the  lake  shore  westward  to  Sandusky, 
Johnny  had  glimpses  of  the  magnitude  of  this 
new  migration  as  he  went  over  his  territory 
planting  seeds,  distributing  trees,  selling  his 
nurseries  to  responsible  men  for  the   small 
sums  that  would  outfit  him  for  this  new  ven- 
ture, and  taking  leave  of  old  friends. 

No  one  tried  to  dissuade  him;  indeed, 
many  rejoiced.  The  setting  sun  has  always 
been  the  shining  goal  of  men,  and  America 
is  still  breeding  a  tribe  of  Israelites  who  move 
on,  seeking  the  land  of  Canaan.  Scarred  vet- 
erans of  pioneering  in  the  rough  hills  of  Ohio 
and  western  Pennsylvania  also  struck  out 
for  the  level  lands  of  Michigan  and  Indiana. 

226 


FRESH    FIELDS 

And  no  reason  could  be  urged  against  his 
going.  At  fifty-one  Johnny  was  ageless.  His 
dark  hair  was  pointed  with  silver,  it  is  true, 
but  his  senses  were  as  keen  and  his  wiry  fig- 
ure as  active,  erect  and  tireless  as  they  had 
ever  been.  To  him  time  was  an  illusion  of 
the  mind,  and  seasons  existed  only  in  the 
soul.  It  was  the  springtime  of  life  so  long 
as  the  vision  beckoned  and  the  spirit  leaped 
to  some  task  undone. 

He  was  now  gleaning  seeds  at  the  cider- 
mills  in  his  earliest  orchards  at  Chillicothe, 
Belpre  and  up  the  Muskingum  Valley.  Late 
in  February  he  crossed  from  Zanesville  to 
Columbus  on  short  relays  of  horses  that  could 
be  returned  at  once  to  their  owners.  On  his 
way  to  Detroit  he  stopped  for  his  farewell 
visit  with  Betty. 

What  changes  the  years  had  brought  to  the 
home  on  the  old  border  which  he  had  re- 
stored to  beauty  and  she  had  kept  together  so 
bravely!  At  twenty  the  twin  boys  were  in 
trade  in  Cincinnati,  and,  by  much  self-denial, 
paying  Jimmy's  way  through  Andover.  In 
her  seventeenth  year  Mary-go- 'round  had 
had  a  gay  winter  in  Marietta.  There  she  had 
lost  her  heart  to  Ethan  Hildreth.     He  was 

227 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

a  distant  cousin  of  the  literary  physician  who 
had  long  shared  and  then  succeeded  to  the 
medical  practice  of  the  lamented  Dr.  True, 
and  who  indulged  a  harmless  fad  for  keeping 
records  of  the  weather.  The  gilded  cock  on 
the  gable  of  Dr.  Hildreth's  house,  that  waved 
its  tail  feathers  gallantly  in  the  teeth  of  every 
wind,  was  the  never -failing  subject  of  face- 
tious comment.  When  gibed  about  the  rest- 
less habits  of  the  bird,  the  doctor  was  wont 
to  remark,  dryly: 

"You  keep  your  ears  open  and  you'll  hear 
that  rooster  crow  one  of  these  days,"  and 
went  off  to  add  some  item  to  the  tabulated 
report  which  he  made  annually  to  the  Ameri- 
can Journal  of  Science. 

Mary  came  home  to  wear  her  mother's 
yellowing  wedding-gown  and  veil  under  the 
blushing  trees  of  the  orchard.  It  was  she  and 
her  shrewd  and  energetic  young  Yankee  hus- 
band who  remained  on  the  big,  prospering 
farm.  And  now  two  babies  of  a  new  genera- 
tion had  begun  to  tumble  out  of  a  larger 
cabin  into  every  happy  day.  'Round  her 
small  world  of  home  and  social  duties,  for 
the  place  was  the  center  of  neighborhood  life, 
Mary  moved  briskly  on  endless  errands,  with 

228 


FRESH    FIELDS 

a  cheerful  ease  and  efficiency  that  were  de- 
lightful to  look  upon.  She  greeted  Johnny 
with  the  old  affection,  and  then  left  him  to 
visit  with  her  mother. 

Betty  sat  in  his  low  rocking-chair,  knitting 
a  tiny  red  stocking,  and  with  Mary's  crowing 
baby  on  her  lap.  At  forty  there  was  not  a 
wrhite  hair  in  her  bright  crown,  but  her  large, 
wistful  blue  eyes  seemed  lost  in  her  pale, 
delicately  featured  face.  Mary,  always  ten- 
derly conscious  of  her  mother,  turned  a  warn- 
ing look  on  Johnny  when  he  told  his  purpose, 
for  Betty  went  still  whiter  and  put  her  hand 
to  her  heart  as  if  in  a  spasm  of  pain. 

"Oh,  Johnny !  going  so  far  away  from  us  all, 
for  so  long  a  time?" 

When  he  could  he  followed  Mary  out  of 
doors.  Fitful  sunshine  now  and  then  broke 
through  clouds,  making  the  bare  trees  of  the 
orchard  etch  their  blue  shadows  on  the  snow. 

"  Isn't  Betty  well?" 

"Who?  Oh,  mother!  No  one  calls  her 
that  any  more  but  you,  Johnny.  I  thought 
you  meant  that  fat  rogue,  Little  Betty.  Yes, 
I  guess  she's  as  well  as  usual.  Anything  start- 
ling always — "  Her  lips  trembled.  "I'll  tell 
you  just  how  it  is,  Johnny.     In  that  terrible 

229 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

war-time  her  heart  was  injured.  We  children 
never  knew  until  Jimmy  went  away  to  college 
last  fall.  Then,  when  there  was  no  one  to  lean 
on  her  any  more  she  gave  way  all  at  once. 
She  might  live  for  years,  in  much  comfort, 
if  she  would  only  spare  herself.  She's  the 
mind  and  heart  and  conscience  of  the  country- 
side. Every  one  runs  to  her  and  wears  her 
out.  Watch  her  to-day  and  you'll  see  what 
I  mean." 

Ah,  he  did  watch  her  with  a  proud  and 
breaking  heart.  How  lavishly  she  burned 
the  oil  of  life  to  keep  the  light  shining  for 
less-endowed  people  who  were  stumbling  up- 
ward along  dim,  rough  ways.  The  old  trail 
had  become  a  main-traveled  road,  and  all  day 
passers-by  dropped  in  to  consult  her — about 
raising  money  to  keep  the  school  going  until 
corn-planting  time;  to  cut  the  first  pink 
calico  dress  a  pretty,  excited  girl  had  ever 
owned,  and  to  ask  her  to  persuade  the  un- 
progressive  not  to  oppose  a  much -needed 
road  tax.  She  prevailed  with  the  leader  of 
the  young  men  to  give  up  the  rude  and  cruel 
sport  of  a  shooting-match.  Then  a  new  set- 
tler, of  whom  she  had  never  heard  before, 
came  to  say  that  the  baby  had  died   and 

230 


FRESH    FIELDS 

his  wife  was  distracted  because  no  travel- 
ing preacher  could  be  found  for  the  funeral. 
Betty  would  go  herself. 

"  Give  the  poor  mother  my  loving  sympathy 
and  tell  her  that  I'll  come  to  say  a  few  words, 
and  fetch  the  singing-school  so  there  will  be 


music." 


"There!"  cried  Mary,  with  helpless  tears, 
when  the  comforted  man  was  gone.  "It's 
seven  miles,  Johnny,  and  such  roads  and 
weather!    It  will  send  her  to  bed  for  a  week." 

"Don't  be  so  troubled  about  me — please, 
dear.  I  must  go.  A  little  bit  of  a  baby  can- 
not be  put  away  in  the  cold  earth  without 
people  being  reminded  that  of  such  is  the 
Kingdom  of  God." 

When  Mary  was  in  the  spare  room,  tacking 
a  new  quilt  in  the  frame  for  a  quilting-bee, 
Betty  and  Johnny  had  an  hour  alone;  and 
because  this  might  be  a  last  parting  they 
touched  upon  memories  never  spoken  of  be- 
fore or  afterward. 

"Johnny,  do  you  remember  the  night  David 
brought  me  here,  a  bride?  You — you  lit  the 
fire  to  welcome  us  home;  and  then  we  were 
sheltered  with  loving  companionship,  and  you 
were  out  alone  in  the  roofless  night?" 

16  23* 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"I  would  have  stayed,  Betty,  if  I  could 
have  borne  it."  Across  the  chasm  of  a  quarter 
of  a  century  of  silence  he  looked  his  confession 
of  a  love  foregone. 

"I  know,"  she  murmured.  "I  think  I 
have  always  known  since  the  night  Aunt 
Mary  Lake  died.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
world,  then,  as  near  and  dear  as  you.  If 
you—  " 

For  the  remaining  years  of  his  life  he  had 
the  knowledge  to  bear  that,  if  he  could  have 
chosen  differently,  her  days  on  earth  might 
have  been  longer.  A  glowing  stick  broke 
into  coals  and  faded  to  an  ashen  rose  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  clock  on  the  chimney-shelf 
ticked  away  a  little  space  of  eternity.  And 
then  a  look  of  brooding  tenderness. 

"You  have  not  been  unhappy,  Johnny?" 

"No,  dear.  My  mission  has  filled  the  cup 
of  life,  and  having  you  in  the  same  world  has 
made  it  overflow." 

After  another  silence  she  laid  her  hand  on 
his  in  gentle  pressure.  "You  have  made 
my  life  infinitely  happier.  I  cannot  imagine 
any  world,  here  or  hereafter,  where  you  were 
not." 

In  the  evening  he  stored  up  other  memories 

232 


FRESH    FIELDS 

for  years  of  solitary  wandering.  As  the  day 
darkened  to  a  close  the  wind  grew  to  a  gale 
which  penetrated  the  crevices  of  the  house, 
so  that  Mary  settled  her  mother  in  a  high- 
backed  chair  and  folded  the  scarlet  cloak 
about  her.  The  first  new-born  lamb  of  the 
season  was  brought  in  by  the  fire,  and  stories 
were  told  of  brave  and  faithful  Old  Guard, 
who  had  run  his  race.  With  the  two  chil- 
dren in  rosy  sleep,  Betty  sitting  wTith  closed 
eyes  and  folded  hands,  Mary  knitting,  and 
Ethan  Hildreth  shaping  a  hickory  ax-handle 
"to  the  fit  of  his  own  fists"  with  an  almost 
pious  absorption,  Johnny  rested  his  elbows 
on  the  hearth  and  read  aloud  by  the  light  of 
the  fire. 

In  a  voice  of  extraordinary  beauty,  now 
loud  and  clear,  now  soft  and  thrilling,  he 
amplified  such  texts  as  "Heaven  is  not  out- 
side a  man,  but  within."  Then  with  poetic 
imagery  he  pictured  the  Garden  of  God  where 
every  order  of  creation  dwelt  in  harmony, 
and  each  found  its  own  highest  happiness  and 
usefulness.  Until  the  fire  was  covered  for  the 
night  he  lay  marking  guide-post  passages 
to  his  hereafter  in  the  copy  of  Swedenborg 
that  he  had  bought  for  Betty.     She  was  asleep 

233 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

when  he  departed  in  the  morning,  and,  al- 
though he  might  never  see  her  again,  he 
would  not  have  her  awakened.  But  that 
night,  unable  to  bear  the  comfort  of  any  fire- 
side where  she  was  not,  he  lay  out  on  a  bleak 
hilltop,  and  to  a  cloud- wracked  sky  where 
no  star  glimmered  lifted  up  his  heart  in 
prayer  for  her  sweet,  fading  life. 

By  ways  still  wild  from  infrequent  travel 
Johnny  went  up  to  a  point  on  the  Sandusky 
River  where  the  Senecas  had  a  small  reserva- 
tion. There  he  got  an  Indian  guide  and  the 
loan  of  a  horse  through  the  bottomless,  tim- 
bered morass  of  the  Black  Swamp  to  the 
rapids  of  the  Maumee.  To  his  dismay,  he 
found  the  wide  river  that  floundered  in  a 
trough  of  the  low  plain  in  raging  flood,  the 
waters  thundering  down  the  falls  with  the 
foam-crests  of  ocean  surges. 

His  seeds  were  rafted  across  with  difficulty, 
and  he  could  do  no  planting  in  the  saturated 
ground  of  the  busy  mill  and  transport  towns 
which  flanked  the  foot  of  the  rapids.  Nor 
could  he  get  through  the  hundred  miles  of 
densely  wooded  and  boggy  bottoms  to  Fort 
Wayne.  But  he  promised  to  come  down- 
stream  with    the    flatboat  -  loads   of  wheat, 

234 


FRESH    FIELDS 

corn  and  hogs  in  the  autumn.  Determined 
and  optimistic  people  here  were  clearing  and 
draining  their  rich  lands,  and  had  begun 
work  on  canals  to  the  Miami  and  Wabash. 
When  these  should  be  completed — and  John- 
ny's hundred-mile  panorama  of  orchards  in 
this  valley  had  blossomed  and  fruited  before 
that  labor  of  Hercules  was  done  —  people 
would  pour  into  an  unhealthy  region  which 
had  fewer  settlers  than  before  the  war. 
Then  the  little  log  lake  port  of  Toledo, 
that  now  stood  up  to  its  ears  in  mud  and 
malaria,  would  rival  Detroit. 

Room  was  found  for  his  two  leather  bags 
of  seeds  in  a  train  of  freight-wagons  carrying 
flour,  meal  and  pork  to  feed  the  transients 
who  were  passing  through  the  old  wilderness 
capital  on  the  strait.  Miles  of  grassy  marshes 
and  cranberry  bogs,  a  dozen  foaming  streams 
with  crumbling  banks,  sunken  and  tilted  cor- 
duroy, and  sloughs  that  would  have  floated 
boats,  extended  all  the  way  up  to  the  plank 
sidewalks  of  Detroit.  Johnny  paid  his  pas- 
sage, at  that  time  and  for  many  seasons  there- 
after, by  helping  pry  out  mired  wagons,  get 
discouraged  oxen  on  their  legs  again,  and  re- 
pair broken  wagons  at  improvised  forges. 

235 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Even  then  the  old  gateway  of  armies  and 
trade  was  a  trim  little  city  of  white  wooden 
houses  and  picket-fenced  gardens.  Stand- 
ing in  level  green  fields  flanked  by  farms,  with 
cattle  grazing  under  trees  that  trailed  their 
low  branches  in  tranquil  waters,  and  with 
every  sort  of  craft  anchored  in  the  roadstead, 
it  reminded  a  famous  traveler,  a  decade  later, 
of  the  quiet  beauties  of  Holland. 

As  this  was  the  season  when  most  of  the 
wild  merchandise  was  brought  in  from  the 
woods,  the  open  spaces  of  the  town  were 
full  of  traders  from  distant  posts;  French 
trappers  with  their  violins  and  their  gaudily 
decked  Indian  wives;  priests  baptizing  in- 
fants and  giving  in  marriage;  impish  half- 
breeds,  and  majestic  braves  in  beaver-skin 
blankets.  These  mingled  in  the  streets  and 
shops  with  elegant  ladies  of  an  old  French 
and  British  aristocracy,  with  wealthy  busi- 
ness men  and  government  officials.  And  to 
this  sufficiently  strange  and  varied  crowd  was 
added  the  Yankees,  New-Yorkers,  planters 
from  the  Southern  seaboard,  Western  pio- 
neers, and  the  German,  Dutch  and  Irish  peas- 
ants, who  poured  up  from  a  steamboat  to 
gaze  on  the    cliff -like   forest  wall   through 

236 


FRESH    FIELDS 

which  they  must  break  to  reach  their  land 
of  promise. 

A  day  was  required  for  goods  to  be  tumbled 
out  of  the  hold,  for  wagons  to  be  loaded,  and 
animals  to  find  their  land  legs  again.  In  a 
store  crowTded  with  time-pressed  customers, 
where  anything  was  to  be  had  from  a  piano 
to  a  tomahawk,  Johnny  bought  a  suit  of 
buckskin,  cowhide  boots  water-proofed  with 
deer  tallow,  a  package  of  salt,  and  a  bag  of 
meal.  For  a  stout  pony  he  gave  the  last  of 
his  money  to  a  mournful  Ottawa.  Loading 
his  baggage  on  the  animal,  he  was  waiting 
in  the  Grand  Circus  for  the  forest-bound 
procession  to  form  when  a  heavy  hand  clapped 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Good  omen!  I  never  thought  to  see 
Johnny  Appleseed  moon  rise  on  the  woods  of 
Michigan."  It  was  the  Territorial  Governor, 
Lewis  Cass,  who  grasped  his  hand.  "Were 
you  going  through  Detroit  without  coming  to 
see  me?" 

Johnny  smiled.  "There  was  no  need. 
You  have  an  orchard." 

"True;  and  I  also  have  a  table  and  a  fair 
library  where  I  like  to  see  the  face  of  a  brave 
man  and  a  friend.     Detroit  has  had  its  or- 

237 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

chards,  and  its  good  living  from  Montreal, 
since  early  French  days.  But  the  country 
behind  it  is  wilder  than  was  Ohio  when  you 
and  I  came  out  to  the  Muskingum,  with 
many  more  Indians  and  ravening  beasts. 
However,  we  will  be  shipping  flour  to  Buffalo 
in  five  years." 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  Johnny  agreed. 

"Well,  dear  pilgrim,  I've  cut  a  few  roads 
for  you  to  travel.  Would  a  letter  from  me 
be  of  use  to  you?" 

Johnny  considered  a  moment.  "No,  I 
think  not.  One  doesn't  need  a  ticket  of  ad- 
mission to  men's  hearts." 

"You  don't."  The  Governor  compressed 
his  lips  and  nodded  in  assent.  Lifting  his 
beaver  hat  with  marked  respect,  he  passed 

on. 

With  such  a  thrill  as  he  had  not  felt  since 
that  eventful  day  in  Pittsburg  twenty-seven 
years  before,  Johnny  went  out  on  this  heroic 
human  tide.  Men  on  saddle-horses  led  the 
way  across  the  marshy  ground  to  the  west  and 
into  the  woods.  Families  followed  in  demo- 
crat wagons  with  strings  of  laden  animals, 
in  carts,  in  frail  chaises  whose  broken  skele- 
tons were  left  to  bleach  along  this  wild  way, 

238 


FRESH    FIELDS 

and  in  the  slow  but  sure  ox-drawn  prairie- 
schooners.  Those  afoot,  like  Johnny,  had 
no  trouble  about  keeping  up,  for  in  this 
lacustrine  land  of  ponds,  wet  depressions  and 
water-filled  gullies  there  were  no  hills  to 
climb,  and  the  stumps  and  fallen  trees  that 
littered  the  ax-widened  Sauk  trail  made  all 
travel  slow.  Ten  years  later,  when  this 
forest-girt  highway  had  become  the  post-road 
to  Chicago,  it  was  still  an  obstructed  mire, 
with  many  unbridged  streams. 

But  within  a  twelvemonth  after  the  open- 
ing of  the  Erie  Canal  emigrants  were  pouring 
over  it  eight  months  of  the  year.  Every 
mile  of  it  out  to  the  crossing  of  the  St.  Joseph 
rang  with  axes,  and  every  considerable  stream 
soon  had  a  sawmill.  No  one  could  journey 
over  it  for  an  hour  without  seeing  smoke 
curling  up  through  the  noble  beeches  and 
ship-mast  conifers.  The  narrower  ravines 
were  spanned  by  tree  trunks,  and  Johnny's 
Indian  pony  "toed"  these  slippery  foot- 
bridges as  easily  as  he;  and  at  the  sprawling 
log  tavern  which  marked  the  limit  of  a  day's 
travel,  there  was  either  a  good  ford  or  a  tim- 
ber-raft ferry  worked  with  ropes  and  pulleys. 

In   a   beautiful   wilderness   where   friends 

239 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

sprang  up  with  the  myriad  delicate  flowers  of 
the  forest,  Johnny  lived  a  second  youth  of 
eager  joy  in  his  mission.  It  was  dangerous 
for  a  man  to  camp  alone  where  huge  bears, 
timber  -  wolves,  lynxes,  panthers  and  wild- 
cats were  so  numerous  and  bold;  but  Johnny 
was  seldom  obliged  to  do  that,  for  wayfarers 
were  nearly  always  on  the  road.  Or  he  man- 
aged to  reach  some  lichened,  beechwood  cab- 
in, where  he  slept  on  a  pole-bed  laced  with 
rawhide,  heaped  with  pine  boughs  and  spread 
with  deerskins.  But  except  for  his  bag  of 
meal  he  must  often  have  gone  hungry,  for 
new-comers  were  living  chiefly  on  game,  and 
paying  for  their  limitless  acres  with  peltries. 
Besides  the  problem  of  food,  Johnny  was 
perplexed  to  know  where  to  put  in  his  seeds. 
There  were  no  hills  or  bluffs,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  rail  off  corners  of  clearings  or  to 
fence  in  inclosures  against  barns  or  mills 
with  slabs  or  brush.  So  he  proceeded  through 
the  timbered  plains,  and  through  the  "oak 
openings"  farther  west,  where  every  cabin 
was  raised  in  a  grassy  copse  encircled  by  great 
trees.  That  was  a  gently  rolling  country  of 
park -like  beauty  —  of  wide  -  spreading  oaks, 
little  hills  and  dancing  brooks,  and  of  sunny 

240 


FRESH    FIELDS 

spaces  sown  with  blossoms,  where  a  gay 
woodpecker  drummed  on  every  ancient  bole 
and  the  wood-thrush  filled  the  bright,  cool 
days  with  melody. 

It  was  on  an  evening  late  in  April,  when 
his  orchards  in  Ohio  were  in  bloom  and  his 
heart  ached  for  his  old  day  in  Paradise  with 
Betty,  that  he  reached  the  point  on  the  St. 
Joseph  where  there  was  a  crossing  to  the 
country  of  the  Pottawatomies.  Not  for  ten 
years  was  a  white  settlement  made  on  the 
north  bank,  from  which  he  now  saw  the  camp- 
fire  and  skin  lodges  of  a  village  of  this  numer- 
ous tribe  that  held  the  lands  around  the  head 
of  Lake  Michigan.  Following  a  couple  of 
mounted  braves  who  forded  the  broad  stream 
by  the  light  of  pine-knot  torches,  he  rode  up 
the  steep,  wooded  slope  and  sought  shelter 
in  a  cabin  that  he  was  surprised  to  find  on 
the  edge  of  the  Indian  town.  Pulling  the 
latch-string,  after  the  custom  of  the  country, 
he  walked  in.  A  white  woman,  petticoated 
in  deerskins  like  a  squaw,  screamed,  and 
her  rough  husband  dropped  a  shotgun. 

"Thought  it  was  them  pesky  redskins, 
stranger.  Air  you  that  appleseed  mission- 
er?"      Johnny's    fame    ran    everywhere   be- 

241 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

fore  him.     "Haul  up  a  stool  and  pitch  into 
the  grub." 

But  Johnny  stood  aloof  in  the  doorway. 
"The  Indians  are  peaceable.  Why  should 
they  molest  you?" 

11  Because  I'm  squattin'  on  their  land,  an' 
they're  try  in*  to  scare  me  out.  I'm  willin' 
to  pay,  but — " 

"You  are  not.  You  do  not  expect  to 
pay,  for  you  are  well  aware  that  they  will 
not  sell.  You  are  a  thief,  and  the  meanest 
kind  of  an  enemy  of  every  decent  white  man 
in  the  country.  If  your  family  is  killed  the 
crime  will  be  on  your  own  head.  I'll  report 
your  wicked  trespassing  to  Governor  Cass. 
When  you  move  across  the  river  I'll  plant 
an  orchard  for  you." 

Sick  at  heart  to  find  the  old  wrongs  and 
hostilities  springing  up  like  poisonous  weeds 
on  this  new  border,  he  led  his  pony  to  the 
Indian  village.  That  he  had  been  Logan's 
brother  would  not  commend  him  to  a  tribe 
that  boasted  the  massacre  of  Fort  Dearborn. 
But  they  had  seen  him  leave  the  cabin  a 
moment  after  entering,  and  the  most  un- 
friendly savage  was  disarmed  by  a  claim  on 
his  hospitality. 

242 


THOUGHT   IT   WAS    THEM    PESKY    REDSKINS,  STRANGER. 
AIR    YOU    THAT    APPLESEED    MISSIONER  ?" 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

1 '  I  need  food/ '  he  said,  simply.  ' '  All  men, 
white  and  red,  are  my  brothers;  but  I  do  not 
break  bread  with  thieves  and  trouble-makers. 
But  leave  that  man  alone.  I  will  rid  you  of 
him  without  violence." 

They  made  room  for  him  at  the  fire.  In 
the  morning  they  offered  to  keep  his  tired 
pony  on  the  fresh  pasture,  and  to  lend  him  a 
canoe  to  go  down  the  historic  "St.  Joe"  to 
Lake  Michigan.  There  were  already  many 
cabins  along  the  north  bank  of  this  stream 
that  was  navigable  by  steamboats.  Near 
them  he  found  sheltered  nooks  for  his  seeds 
in  high  banks;  and  he  found  coves  back  of 
the  cliffs  that  sprang  from  the  silver  beach 
below  the  old  French  trading-post  at  the 
harbor  mouth.  In  these  northern  lands  the 
season  was  later  than  in  Ohio,  so,  until  the 
end  of  May,  he  continued  his  planting  in  a 
region  where  later  generations  reaped  a  mil- 
lionfold.  Long  after  his  labor  of  love  had 
ceased  Michigan  became  the  commercial  or- 
chard of  the  Middle  West. 

The  new  clearings  were  bannered  with 
corn,  and  all  the  glades  were  red  with  wild 
strawberries  when  he  returned  to  the  Indian 
village.     The  tribe  had  refused  to  care  for  a 

244 


FRESH    FIELDS 

nursery,  but  Chief  Pokagon  hitched  a  horse 
and  an  ox  to  a  flaming  chariot  and  drove 
Johnny  down  to  the  Tippecanoe  River.  He 
had  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  wagon  that  he 
had  made  for  himself,  after  no  known  model, 
long  before  a  white  man's  vehicle  was  seen 
in  that  country.  The  hay-rack  bed  was 
mounted  on  hickory  axles,  and  the  solid 
wheels,  hewn  and  burned  and  scraped  out 
of  cross-sections  of  a  white-oak  tree,  were 
painted  a  bright  vermilion.  Until  the  Potta- 
watomies  signed  away  their  ancestral  lands 
and  went  west  of  the  Mississippi,  Johnny  could 
always  count  upon  a  lift  of  fifty  miles  in  this 
triumphal  car.  Throned  on  a  high  seat  beside 
the  chief,  who  wore  his  war  bonnet  of  eagle 
feathers,  they  rumbled  across  the  lake-dotted 
prairies  of  northern  Indiana,  with  its  great 
herds  of  deer  and  buffalo.  After  crossing  the 
shallow  head-waters  of  the  Tippecanoe,  he  and 
his  pony  were  set  on  the  southward  trail. 

A  true  Indian  path  in  prairie  country,  it 
followed  every  turn  of  the  eastern  bank  and 
clung  to  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  Sheltered 
alike  from  sun  and  storm,  it  had  a  broad 
ribbon  of  water  and  a  double  belt  of  wood- 
land between  it  and  prairie  fires.     On  the  one 

245 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

hand  were  ancient  camping-places,  all  the  for- 
est fruits  and  blossoms,  and  the  rapture  of 
thrushes;  and  on  the  other  an  emerald  sea 
of  wind-rippled  grass,  with  its  fleets  of  cloud 
shadows,  and  the  fluting  of  the  meadow-lark. 
And  all  the  way  down  to  where  it  poured  its 
tribute  into  the  Wabash  the  Tippecanoe  had 
every  witchery  of  prairie  streams — flowery 
meads,  and  marshes  sky-woven  with  water- 
fowl; long  stretches  of  bottom-land  wooded 
with  sycamores,  maples  and  hawthorns,  and 
deep,  winding  ravines  brimming  with  beauty, 
where  the  water  twisted  and  foamed  for  miles 
over  rocky  rapids. 

Starting  from  the  busy  little  year-old  river 
port  of  Lafayette,  Johnny  spent  the  sum- 
mer exploring  the  enchanting  valley  of  the 
Upper  Wabash,  searching  out  the  settlers  in 
the  bottoms,  the  mills  on  the  creeks,  and  the 
" neighborhoods"  of  from  six  to  ten  cabins 
on  adjoining  quarter-sections  of  prairie.  Peo- 
ple who  had  been  on  the  treeless  areas  five 
years  had  wood-lots  growing  from  black  wal- 
nuts and  the  seeds  of  locusts,  and  they  had 
hedges  of  hawthorn  shrubs  and  osage  orange- 
trees,  planted  on  ditched  and  sodded  ridges 
for  wind  and  fire  breaks. 

246 


FRESH    FIELDS 

In  the  shelter  of  a  few  such  living  fences 
on  the  Wea  and  Wildcat  prairies,  in  the  knot 
of  hills  that  overlooked  Lafayette,   and  on 
bluffs  above  high  water,  Johnny  began  to  put 
in  his  seeds.     It  was  late  in  September,  when 
the  whistle  of  the  first  steamboat  of  the  sea- 
son was  a  Gabriel's  trump  over  a  forty-mile 
radius  of  country.     During  a  month  of  dry 
and  windless  weather  he  worked  rapidly  up- 
stream.    From  the  sources  of  the  Wabash  he 
had  only  to  make  a  twenty-mile  portage  across 
the  low  undulations  of  the  watershed  to  reach 
Fort  Wayne  and  the  valley  of  the  Matimee. 

The  prairie-grass  had  grown  six  feet  high 
and  turned  brown.     With  sharp  nights  it  lost 
its  embroidery  of  purple  and  gold  ray-flowers. 
Long  imprisoned  in  forests,  Johnny  fell  under 
the   spell  of   these    spaces  bare   and   grand, 
arched  over  by  wide,  sun-drenched  or  star- 
ry domes,  where  the  winds  blew  free  and  the 
spirit  fared  forth  to  brave  adventure.     Often 
before  seeking  shelter  for  the  night  he  climbed 
a  tree  to  look  out   over   the   sunset  -  gilded 
billows,  with  their  horizon  lines  of  blazing 
autumn  woodlands.   Wild  herds  were  drowned 
in  that  ocean  of  herbage;    cabin  roofs  were 
awash;  the  canvas-covered  schooners  of  new- 


17 


247 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

comers,  the  wagon-loads  of  corn  and  wheat, 
and  the  droves  of  hogs  and  cattle  going  down 
to  flatboats  on  the  river,  plowed  through  like 
ships  at  sea,  with  parted  waters  in  their  wake. 

But  it  was  a  landscape  of  terror  as  well  as 
of  beauty,  where  the  vigilance  of  men  never 
ceased.  A  spark  from  a  careless  hunter's  fire, 
borne  on  a  high  west  wind,  would  sweep  a 
sea  of  flame  over  a  fifty-mile  prairie  in  an 
hour,  often  overtaking  fleeing  herds  of  deer 
and  buffalo.  Around  every  "neighborhood" 
the  farmers  mowed  and  burned  a  wide  strip 
of  grass  and  plowed  the  land  as  a  protection. 
Johnny  was  cautioned  to  sleep  in  a  cabin  when 
he  could,  and  to  camp  on  the  eastern  banks 
of  waterways,  where  he  would  find  old  Indian 
cobble-lined  fire-holes  in  cleared  spaces  in  the 
timber  belts. 

In  the  last  week  of  October  he  reached  the 
house  of  one  of  the  few  Scotchmen  in  the 
country.  The  man  had  a  plot  in  the  shelter 
of  the  thorny  hedge  ready  for  him,  and,  in  a 
cold  wind  that  threatened  to  blow  the  shock 
of  red  hair  from  his  head,  sat  on  a  sawbuck 
and  talked  as  Johnny  worked. 

"I  hae  a  braw  coatie  o'  buffalo-hide  to  fend 
the  cauld  frae  ye.     It  cost  me  nae  mair  than 

248 


FRESH    FIELDS 

a  chairge  o'  pooder  an'  shot,  so  there's  nae 
occasion  for  gratitude.  But  an  orchard  here 
is  like  the  grace  o'  God.  It  canna  be  had 
for  siller." 

"The  best  things  in  life  are  those  that  can- 
not be  bought." 

"Ay,  ye  gang  aboot  gien  yer  bonny  trees 
wi'oot  price."  By  and  by  he  remarked  that 
it  was  blowing  up  to  rain  or  to  drive  one  of 
the  deil's  ain  fires.  His  look  was  one  of 
anxious  concern.  "Man,  ye'll  bide  the  blawy 
nicht?" 

Johnny  thought  not.  The  planting  season 
was  short,  and  no  time  was  to  be  lost.  With 
such  a  wind  at  his  back  he  could  easily  make 
the  ten  miles  to  the  portage  by  nightfall 
and  be  in  Fort  Wayne  the  next  evening. 
Filling  the  pockets  of  the  warm  fur  coat  with 
corn-dodgers  and  the  hickory-nuts  that  the 
children  had  patiently  picked  out  for  him, 
he  took  the  river  trail. 

With  the  waning  day  the  wind  increased. 
The  sun  set  in  a  bank  of  fiery  rose,  with  a 
smoky  pall  above  it;  and  after  it  disap- 
peared no  light  lingered  on  the  plain,  for  a 
wrack  of  gray  storm-clouds  hid  the  moon  and 
stars.     In  the  darkness  Johnny  could  not  see 

249 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

to  cross  a  steeply  walled  and  watered  ravine, 
nor  could  he  venture  to  build  a  fire  in  the  dry 
leaves  and  underbrush  of  the  narrow  belt  of 
woods  that  topped  the  west  bank.  Tethering 
the  pony  under  the  trees  and  supplying  him 
with  grass,  he  ate  his  own  supper,  and  with 
his  half-empty  bag  of  seeds  for  a  pillow  lay 
down  with  a  huge  hollow  log  to  windward. 

What  with  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  crowd- 
ing thoughts,  it  was  long  before  he  slept.  In 
the  settlement  which  had  grown  up  around 
"Mad  Anthony's "  old  fort  and  Indian  agency, 
a  big  plot  would  be  ready  for  him,  and  men  who 
had  brought  in  corn  and  marsh-hay  would  be 
waiting  to  take  him  all  the  way  out  to  Shane's 
Prairie  and  Twenty-four-mile  Creek.  Brave 
women  were  there  who  never  winced  if  a  bear 
or  a  panther  scrambled  across  the  roof,  but 
who  cried  in  their  sleep  for  the  bowery  homes 
they  had  left  in  the  East.  Ah,  what  a  mission! 
Again,  as  in  Ohio,  it  was  to  be  his  privilege 
to  feed  the  multitude  in  these  new  wilds  with 
comfort  and  beauty. 

He  decided  that  he  would  leave  his  pony 
on  the  farm  of  William  Worth  near  the  town, 
and  go  down  the  Maumee  with  the  flatboats. 
From  Toledo  he  could  make  a  quick  passage 

250 


FRESH    FIELDS 

to  Erie,  paying  his  way  by  pushing  cord-wood 
under  the  boiler  of  a  steamboat.  Thence  he 
could  cross  to  his  old  gleaning-field  in  the 
Allegheny  Valley.  In  the  spring  he  could 
work  his  way  down  the  Ohio  and  up  the 
Miami  to  Piqua.  Thus  he  could  save  time 
and  energy — but  for  the  first  year  since  he 
had  known  her  he  would  not  see  Betty!  All 
he  could  hope  for  was  to  have  word  from  her 
when  he  came  into  Pittsburg  in  February. 
Turning  upon  his  bag  of  seeds  he  buried  his 
face  in  his  arm,  and  when  he  was  at  peace 
again  he  slept  like  a  child. 

And  then,  what  dreams  of  sound  and  light  in 
the  moment  before  awaking !  Upon  the  fabric 
of  the  wind — the  loud  moaning,  the  surf -rush 
of  long  grasses,  and  the  threshing  of  the  bare 
tree-tops — were  woven  filaments  of  sighs,  silk- 
en rustlings  and  aerial  whispers.  A  glow  as 
of  the  rising  sun  was  suddenly  a  burst  of 
glory,  as  if  the  Creator  had  just  spoken;  and 
upon  that  were  etched  the  black  web  of  the 
trees,  little  flying  birds  and  shooting  stars. 
It  was  a  puff  of  hot  smoke,  a  blinding  glare, 
the  howling  of  wolves,  the  thunder  of  hoofs 
and  the  frantic  plunging  of  the  pony  that 
brought  him  to  his  feet. 

251 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

He  leaped  to  get  his  hat  over  the  faithful 
animal's  eyes,  but  with  an  awful  scream  the 
pony  broke  loose  and  shot  into  that  flaming 
sea.  Shaking  his  blazing  coat  from  him, 
Johnny  fell  down  the  bank,  pursued  by  fire 
to  the  water's  edge.  Then  a  cloud  of  sparks 
and  a  billow  of  smoke  rolled  over  him,  filling 
the  ravine. 

There  he  lay  immersed,  with  the  smell  of 
scorched  fur  and  flesh  in  his  nostrils,  and  the 
struggles  and  cries  of  suffocating  and  drown- 
ing creatures  in  his  ears.  Very  soon,  how- 
ever, it  was  so  still  that  he  could  hear  the 
shallow  water  chuckling  over  its  stony  bed. 
The  smoke  lifted  slowly,  but,  once  it  had 
risen  to  the  prairie  level,  was  whirled  away 
on  the  wind.  After  a  long  time  he  crept  up 
the  farther  bank  and,  burned,  drenched  and 
blinded,  lay  in  a  gale  which  blew  itself  out 
in  gusts  that  were  laden  with  the  ashes  and 
cinders  of  dead  fires. 

When  he  had  recovered  from  the  shock  he 
had  to  consider  if  this  was  the  end — if  he, 
like  his  pony  and  his  seeds,  lay  on  the  fiery 
death-bed  of  the  prairies.  Then  he  was  not 
dismayed.  He  would  leave  nothing  behind 
him  but  the  unfinished  task,  and  from  that 

252 


HE  LEAPED   TO   GET   HIS   HAT   OVER   THE    FAITHFUL 

animal's  eyes 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

God  called  men  every  hour.  And  all  that 
he  valued  was  laid  up  in  heaven  or  would  join 
him  there.  Into  his  heart  he  gathered  his 
treasured  memories  and  beliefs — had  a  vision 
of  the  orchards  that  he  had  planted  to  gladden 
the  eyes  of  men  and  angels.  He  summoned 
the  image  of  Betty,  and  the  kindred  spirits 
of  those  who  had  gone  before — relived  hours 
of  happy  companionship  with  them  and  an- 
ticipated eternity  until,  from  the  agony  of 
his  burns  and  the  torture  of  morning  light 
to  his  eyes,  he  sank  into  unconsciousness. 

Afterward  he  remembered  that  the  clearest 
vision  of  all  was  of  Logan,  who  knew  the  wild 
ways  of  these  old  lands  of  the  Miamis  in  the 
dark.  As  on  that  night  in  the  Shawnee  vil- 
lage on  the  Scioto,  he  felt  the  young  chief's 
arm  about  him,  heard  his  voice  calling: 
11  Brother!  Brother!  Brother!"  until  he 
struggled  up  again  from  some  abyss  into  which 
he  had  slipped.  He  got  to  his  feet,  bandaged 
his  eyes,  and  without  hesitation  took  an  un- 
seen path.  When  asked  afterward  how  he 
made  his  way  to  Fort  Wayne,  he  answered 
with  simple  and  reverent  conviction: 

"I  was  led." 

Three  days  later  he  staggered  out  of  prairie- 

254 


FRESH    FIELDS 

grass  higher  than  his  head,  to  hear  the  tinkle 
of  cow-bells,  and  the  laughing  chatter  of  the 
school-children  who  were   out   on    the    hilly 
banks  south  of  the  town  gathering  hazelnuts. 
His  hair  was  singed  unevenly,  and  a  strip  of 
buckskin  from  his  shirt  was  bound  across  his 
eyes.   In  his  fire-blackened  and  water-shrunk- 
en garments,  with  his  arms  flung  wide  for  the 
support  of  gathered  sheaves  of  grass,  he  was 
such  a  figure  as  a  farmer  might  have  set  up 
for  a  scarecrow  in  a  corn-field.     But  from  his 
firm,  sweet  lips  came  the  gentlest  speech  these 
startled  young  people  had  ever  heard. 
"Are  there  little  children  here?" 
"Yes,    sir."     It   was   Billy  Worth,    a   tall 
boy  of  twelve,  who  spoke.     They  all  picked 
up  their  Indian  baskets  and,  running  across 
the    fire-strip    of    plowed    ground,    crowded 
around  him  with   the  divine   compassion  of 
childhood.     Those  prairie-bred  little  folk  un- 
derstood his  terrible  plight,   for  the  fire  in 
which  he   had  so  nearly  perished  had  been 
watched  with  alarm  from  Fort  Wayne. 

"Will  you  lead  me  to  a  doctor?"  And  he 
told  his  name.  They  looked  upon  him  with 
wondering  awe,  for  they  had  heard  of  him 
and  his  beautiful  mission,    as  who  in   that 

255 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

region  had  not?  And  when  he  added  that 
he  had  lost  his  seeds,  but  would  have  a  new 
supply  to  plant  for  them  in  the  spring,  emo- 
tional Madeleine  Bourie,  the  small  daughter 
of  a  French  trader  of  the  place,  covered  his 
blistered  hand  with  tears  and  kisses. 

"Saint  from  heaven,  have  you  lost  your 
eyes,  too?" 

"No,  dear  little  one;  I  hope  not.  But  I 
cannot  bear  the  light."  And  it  seemed  that, 
after  three  days  of  famine  and  torturing 
pains,  he  could  no  longer  bear  his  own  weight 
on  his  feet.  He  was  sinking  to  his  knees 
when  Billy  set  sturdy  shoulders  under  his 
arm. 

"You  lean  on  me,  Johnny.  I'm  strong. 
Jean  Bourie,  you  get  on  the  other  side  o' 
him." 

The  evening  glow  was  on  land  and  river, 
and  on  the  rude  but  busy  trading-post  around 
the  old  fort,  when  the  children  brought 
Johnny  slowly  in  across  the  fields. 


XI 


THE  WINTER  OF  THE  DEEP  SNOW 

*Y  the  time  sturdy  apple-trees 
as  tall  as  himself  were  growing 
in  flourishing  young  orchards 
j  all  over  his  new  field  of  labor, 
Johnny  was  faring  farther.  His 
eyes  had  received  no  perma- 
nent injury  from  the  prairie  fire,  and  he 
was  still  in  his  full  vigor;  but  at  fifty-five  the 
best  man  has  fewer  years  and  diminishing 
powers  before  him.  With  the  feeling,  un- 
known to  youth,  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost, 
his  heart  yearned  over  wildernesses  unsown. 
Therefore,  in  June  of  1830,  his  eager  feet 
took  the  road  which  Governor  Cass  had  cut 
through  the  woods  to  the  Grand  River  coun- 
try. In  that  region,  and  along  the  numerous 
sandy  inlets  from  Lake  Michigan  that  pene- 
trated the  pineries,  he  left  seeds  for  fall  plant- 
ing   with    the    missionary    priests    who    had 

257 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

rustic  chapels  in  every  cluster  of  huts  of 
French  and  Indian  trappers.  And  there  the 
conviction  grew  upon  him  that  menacing  in- 
fluences were  abroad. 

To  the  sower  weather  is  the  one,  large,  ever- 
present  fact  of  the  universe.  He  puts  in  his 
seeds  early  or  late  as  he  is  permitted  by  kind 
or  inclement  skies.  Then,  unable  to  hasten 
or  delay  the  harvest  by  any  industry  or  clever- 
ness of  his  own,  he  waits  for  the  increase  with 
anxious  eyes  on  the  heavens.  A  drought  or 
flood,  an  untimely  frost  or  rain  or  burning 
sun,  may  bring  the  labor  of  a  year  to  naught. 
So  he  comes  to  note  and  to  interpret  every 
change  in  the  temperature,  the  direction  and 
force  of  the  wind,  the  formation  of  the  clouds 
and,  especially,  any  variation  from  the  nor- 
mal in  the  pageantry  of  the  seasons.  In  his 
three  decades  of  planting  in  wild  places, 
Johnny  had  gained  all  the  weather  wisdom 
of  the  farmer.  A  poet  and  seer  besides,  he 
was  sensitive  to  disturbances  in  nature's  har- 
monies. And  now,  discord  had  crashed  across 
the  rhythmic  measures  of  the  year,  threaten- 
ing to  make  one  of  those  historic  periods  to 
which  men  refer  back  in  some  such  descrip- 
tive phrase  as  "the  year  of  the  big  wind." 

258 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

Beginning  with  the  spring  equinox,  storms 
such  as  had  not  been  known  in  a  half-century 
had  strewn  the  Atlantic  coast  with  wreckage 
and  swept  up  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi 
with  destructive  violence.  All  over  the  coun- 
try the  months  of  planting  were  cold  and  wet. 
Midsummer  was  oppressively  hot,  even  in 
these  northern  woods  and  waters,  with  such 
electric  tempests  as  made  old  hunters  un- 
easy. Then,  late  in  August,  a  day  of  sinister 
aspect — of  a  haloed  and  spotted  sun  which 
gave  off  pale-blue  and  violet  rays — ended  in 
a  night  that  was  made  memorable  by  the 
most  brilliant  aurora  ever  seen  by  that  gen- 
eration of  woodsmen.  The  women  lit  fresh 
candles  before  the  images  of  Mother  Mary 
and  spent  the  ominous  hours  in  prayer.  This 
was  followed  by  six  weeks  of  stormy  weather, 
with  nocturnal  illuminations. 

At  Muskegon  Johnny  found  a  half-breed 
Frenchman,  so  old  that  his  merry  little  face 
was  a  scrap  of  crinkled  brown  crepe,  who  pre- 
dicted a  long,  cold  winter,  with  deep  snow 
and  good  hunting  only  for  "M'sieu  Wolf." 
He  had  no  theory  concerning  it;  but  about 
fifty  years  before,  when,  as  a  young  man,  he 
had  been  at  Prairie  du  Chien  on  the  upper 

259 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Mississippi — "Oui,  M'sieu,  Dog  Prairie" — 
sunspots,  bright  northern  lights  and  a  bleak 
and  early  autumn  had  been  the  forerunners 
of  a  terrible  season.  From  Montreal  to  Kas- 
kaskia  and  the  Rocky  Mountains  game  was 
destroyed  by  wolves,  and  many  trappers  never 
returned  to  their  stations.  It  struck  Johnny 
as  significant  that  the  Eastern  newspapers  he 
had  seen  in  Detroit  in  the  spring,  and  this  un- 
lettered child  of  nature  in  the  heart  of  the 
continent,  should  agree  in  harking  back  a  half- 
century  for  comparison  with  this  year's  ex- 
traordinary weather.  When  he  reached  Ma- 
rietta in  the  winter  he  would  ask  Dr.  Hildreth 
about  this. 

No  one  else  could  remember  so  far  back, 
and  at  first  scant  attention  was  paid  to  the 
ancient  coureur  du  bois.  But  in  the  weeks 
which  should  have  been  mild  and  clear  a 
gray,  heaving  lake,  sodden  woods  and  "red 
battles  in  the  sky  "  stopped  the  violin-playing 
and  dancing  of  light-hearted  vagabonds,  and 
filled  Johnny  with  a  sense  of  impending  ca- 
lamity. 

In  deep  anxiety  about  his  young  orchards, 
he  went  down  to  the  trading-post  at  St. 
Joseph   in   a  mackinaw  boat   with  hunters 

260 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

who  were  obliged  to  go  for  their  winter  out- 
fits. From  there  he  sent  word  over  the  road 
to  Detroit  that,  in  a  season  which  might  be 
severe,  men  should  multch  the  roots  and 
wrap  the  trunks  of  their  tender  little  apple- 
trees  with  straw  and  bagging.  He  would  take 
the  same  warning  down  the  Maumee  from 
Fort  Wayne,  and  send  it  back  along  the 
Wabash  and  White  River  valleys. 

Then,  in  the  brief  allotment  of  ten  days  of 
Indian  summer,  after  which  cold  rains  and 
sharp  nights  set  in,  he  had  a  profound  ex- 
perience. When  he  reached  the  ford  of  the 
St.  Joseph  on  a  still,  hazy  evening,  he  found 
the  river  so  swollen  that  he  hailed  the  Indian 
village  for  help  in  making  the  crossing.  Chief 
Pokagon  answered  him  and  launched  a  canoe ; 
but  he  stopped  in  midstream  when  a  voice 
of  worship  and  of  love  ineffable,  as  of  an  angel 
come  down  from  the  choir  invisible,  poured 
a  flood  of  liquid  melody  out  of  the  forest.  It 
was  the  hermit -thrush.  Never  seen,  and  sel- 
dom heard  to  sing  in  this  southern  limit  of 
the  pines,  the  Indians  called  it  the  spirit  bird. 
White  man  and  red  were  tranced  until  that 
hymn  of  unearthly  purity  and  beauty  had 
ascended  to  the  skies. 

261 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

In  the  hush  which  followed,  a  cherished 
memory  of  Betty  recurred  to  Johnny  with 
such  vividness  that  he  saw  again  the  gay 
and  tender  child  of  the  cove  above  the  ship- 
yard at  Marietta.  With  light,  flying  foot- 
steps that  seemed  not  to  touch  the  grassy 
floor,  she  sped  across  a  copse  that  was  faintly 
silvered  with  moonlight.  Turning  with  a 
happy  smile,  she  waved  her  hand  to  him  be- 
fore she  vanished  in  a  belt  of  woods. 

As  he  stepped  into  the  canoe  the  chief 
gazed  upon  him  with  reverence,  for  now  he 
knew  what  it  was  in  Johnny's  face  that  had 
arrested  him  at  first  sight,  and  then  held 
him.  It  was  some  resemblance  to  the  tribal 
tradition  of  Pere  Marquette,  whose  few, 
saintly  years  in  these  wilds,  more  than  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  before,  had  never  been 
forgotten  by  the  Indians.  The  face  of  that 
sinless  man,  who  had  constant  speech  with 
angels,  had  been  a  pale  flame  like  an  altar 
candle  which  had  been  blessed.  Johnny  had 
that  look  now.  Had  the  spirit  bird  brought 
him  a  message? 

He  thought  so.  And  he  had  seen  some- 
thing beautiful,  reassuring  him  as  to  the  well- 
being  and  happiness  of  a  dear  friend  who  had 

262 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

long  been  in  failing  health;  but  he  could  not 
fathom  its  meaning.  He  lay  long  that  night 
thinking  of  the  voice  and  the  vision,  and  when 
the  sky  cleared  and  countless  stars  bloomed 
on  the  dark,  he  wondered  if  there  were  not 
one  more  softly  shining  for  a  soul  returned 
to  its  home  on  the  wings  of  that  celestial  song. 

The  next  six  weeks  of  the  bleak  weather, 
in  which  there  was  now  and  then  an  illumi- 
nated night,  he  spent  among  the  settlements 
on  the  Maumee.  From  Toledo  he  worked 
his  way  on  a  Lake  Erie  steamboat  to  Cleve- 
land. Journeying  southward,  he  gleaned  seeds 
along  the  Cuyahoga  and  Muskingum.  It  was 
his  intention  to  go  down  the  Ohio  and  up  the 
Scioto,  and  to  ease  his  aching  loneliness  by 
seeing  Betty  in  March. 

He  was  in  Zanesville  early  in  December, 
when  his  apprehensions  were  confirmed  by 
another  day  of  a  dark-cratered  sun,  followed 
by  an  auroral  display  which  kept  awe-struck 
people  out  of  doors  all  night. 

The  play  of  the  northern  lights  began  after 
sunset,  in  a  blush  that  covered  half  the 
horizon.  This  mounted  to  a  golden  corona 
in  the  zenith,  from  which  it  presently  fell  in 
transparent  drapery  folds  that  wavered  be- 

18  263 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

tween  pillars  of  crimson  fire.  Spindles  of 
silvery  luster  darted  from  this,  and  through 
it  the  stars  appeared  as  blue-white  electric 
points.  Stars  innumerable  glittered  on  a 
slate-colored  southern  sky.  In  a  profound 
hush  of  nature  the  temperature  dropped  to 
an  icy  chill.  The  first  large  flakes  of  snow 
which  wandered  in  the  air  at  dawn  were 
stained  a  lovely  rose  by  the  flickering  light 
that  lingered  in  the  heavens. 

Incredibly  beautiful  as  was  the  spectacle, 
it  aroused  the  superstitious  fear  of  the  igno- 
rant and  alarmed  even  the  educated.  Not 
within  the  memory  of  living  men  had  such 
phenomena  of  the  polar  regions  occurred  in 
temperate  latitudes.  Now,  Johnny  learned, 
from  New  York  and  Boston  newspapers,  that 
the  auroras  he  had  seen  in  the  wilds  of  Michi- 
gan were  also  reported  from  the  Eastern  sea- 
board and  from  the  observatories  of  London 
and  Paris.  These  singular  occurrences,  with 
their  attendant  storms,  were  not  local.  What- 
ever there  was  of  menace  in  the  air  appeared 
to  be  enveloping  the  northern  world.  The 
succeeding  days  of  wind  and  rain,  snow  and 
sleet  and  unseasonable  cold  filled  every  one 
with  bewilderment  and  consternation. 

264 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

The  Ohio  Valley  that  was  known  to  early 
pioneers  had  no  such  extremes  of  weather  as 
are  experienced  in  this  semi-denuded  region 
to-day.  From  the  settlement  at  Marietta  the 
winters  had  been  uniformly  mild.  With  grass 
until  January,  then  light  falls  of  snow  that 
soon  disappeared  in  soft  thaws,  and  only  an 
occasional  "spell"  of  freezing  temperatures, 
cattle  were  provided  with  little  or  no  shelter. 
Corn  was  left  in  shocks  in  the  fields  and  fuel 
in  the  woods,  to  be  brought  in  as  it  was  needed. 
Spring  returned  early  in  March,  with  blos- 
soming trees  and  greening  pastures. 

But  now  the  earth  was  saturated,  then 
frozen,  then  swept  by  bitter  winds  and 
mantled  with  white.  Over  a  road  deserted 
by  travel  Johnny  made  his  way  southward, 
from  one  cider-mill  to  another,  to  find  farm- 
ers putting  up  sheds  for  their  cows  and  run- 
ners under  their  wagon-beds,  as  if  this  were 
New  England.  His  own  work  was  stopped 
by  another  storm  in  the  week  before  Christ- 
mas. From  heaps  of  pomace  congealed  to 
granite  and  buried  under  six  inches  of  hard- 
packed  snow,  he  could  not  wash  out  seeds. 
On  the  ice  of  the  Muskingum  he  tramped 
down  to  Marietta. 

265 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

Sleigh-bells  were  jingling  merrily  in  a  crisp 
day  of  cold  sunshine,  for  every  one  who  had 
a  horse  was  out  in  a  gay  cutter  or  hastily  con- 
trived bobsled,  to  make  the  most  of  a  winter 
sport  that  was  usually  of  brief  duration ;  and 
shouting  children  were  snow-balling,  coasting, 
and  skating  on  Duck  Creek.  How  it  warmed 
the  heart  of  any  Yankee  in  exile — this  typical 
New  England  town  in  the  West!  With  its 
twin-towered  "two-horn"  church,  its  wide, 
tree-bordered  streets,  its  colonial  houses  and 
prosperous  little  college,  and  now,  with  its  ice- 
contracted  flood  and  wooded  hills  all  hoary 
with  snow,  it  looked  not  unlike  Burlington, 
Vermont.  The  last  touch  of  similitude  to  a 
"down-east"  port  was  given  by  the  concern 
that  was  felt  for  an  overdue  steamboat  from 
Pittsburg. 

Johnny  had  other  anxieties — the  possi- 
bility that  even  his  old  orchards  in  Ohio 
might  be  winter-killed.  Where  long,  severe 
seasons  were  the  rule,  apple-trees,  like  wise 
animals,  grew  thick,  shaggy  coats.  But  here, 
where  even  the  delicate  peach  nourished,  his 
trees  had  no  such  defense.  Many  of  them 
kept,  up  to  full  maturity,  the  thin,  satiny 
bark  of  rose  canes.     When  he  reached  the 

266 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

town  his  canvas  seed-bag  was  wet  and  frozen, 
so  he  hurried  up  to  Dr.  Hildreth's  house  and 
turned  the  precious  contents  out  on  sheets 
on  the  dry  attic  floor.  Then  he  ran  down  to 
the  front  yard  to  find  the  weather-man. 

Meteorology  was  then  an  experimental  sci- 
ence and  the  subject  of  popular  derision. 
For  more  than  twenty  years  Dr.  Hildreth 
had  been,  here,  one  of  the  dozen  or  so  ob- 
servers of  the  weather  scattered  over  the 
eastern  third  of  the  country,  who  were  with- 
out honor.  A  man  of  the  slightest  physique, 
muffled  to  his  ears  by  an  anxious  wife, 
Johnny  found  him  beside  his  little  observa- 
tion station,  which  looked  like  the  shuttered 
belfry  of  a  wooden  church  set  up  on  posts 
on  the  lawn. 

The  gilded  cock  on  the  house  gable  was 
boxing  the  compass,  in  its  laudable  efforts 
to  determine  the  direction  of  erratic  gusts 
of  wind.  Seeing  it  so,  a  facetious  neighbor 
hailed  the  doctor  from  the  gate. 

"If  this  is  the  kind  of  weather  that  'tarnal 
rooster  of  yours  brings,  I'll  wring  his  neck. 
I've  got  a  cargo  of  pork  and  flour  to  ship 
to  New   Orleans,   and    the   river  is  freezing 


over." 


267 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"Put  runners  under  your  old  mud-scow 
and  you  can  sledge  it  down  over  the  ice  pretty 
soon,"  was  the  doctor's  advice. 

The  man  went  on,  laughing,  but  Johnny 
asked,  seriously:  "Is  that  true?,, 

"I  think  it  is,  Johnny.  A  good  many 
straws  are  blowing  that  way."  He  added, 
dryly,  "I  have  quite  a  reputation  as  a  hu- 
morist in  this  town,  but  if  I  am  not  much 
mistaken  I  am  going  to  lose  it  this  winter." 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  airy  little  struc- 
ture and,  as  eagerly  as  a  boy  to  the  interested 
listener,  explained  the  various  instruments 
within.  And  when  Johnny  told  him  about 
the  recollections  and  predictions  of  the  an- 
cient, half-breed  trapper  in  western  Michigan, 
his  hands  shook  with  excitement  and  his 
thin,  smooth-shaven,  intellectual  face  glowed 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  scientific  in- 
vestigator. 

"Can  he  read?     How  old  is  he?" 

"Not  a  word — no  more  than  his  pony. 
His  speech  is  a  rude,  French-Indian  patois  in 
which  nothing  has  been  printed.  He's  eighty- 
five  by  the  mission  register." 

"Such  people  often  have  wonderful  mem- 
ories— their  minds  are  not  cluttered  up  with 

268 


WINTER   OF   THE    DEEP    SNOW 

thinking.  This  is  interesting,  undoubtedly 
reliable,  for  it  confirms  other  data.  Fifty- 
three  years  ago  this  winter  your  father  and 
mine  were  at  Valley  Forge  with  Washington, 
trying  to  keep  their  discouraged  souls  in  their 
freezing  bodies.  They,  too,  looked  up  at  'red 
battles  in  the  sky/  and  down  at  their  bloody 
footprints  in  the  deep  snow  of  the  severest 
season  this  country  ever  knew.  Same  signs 
this  year — the  atmosphere  in  an  explosive 
state  for  months  before,  and  winter  setting 
in  early  and  with  unusual  severity.  In  that 
winter  of  '7 7-' 7 8  cattle,  sheep  and  unlucky 
travelers  perished  everywhere  north  of  Mary- 
land,  and  many  old  orchards — " 

He  stopped  at  Johnny's  stricken  look,  and 
made  haste  to  put  the  matter  in  a  more  cheer- 
ful light. 

"A  surprising  number  of  orchards  did  sur- 
vive. It's  truly  wonderful  how  plants  and 
animals  adapt  themselves.  The  wild  geese 
and  ducks  fled  southward  this  fall  a  month 
before  their  usual  time,  and  my  horse  is 
growing  a  coat  like  a  buffalo.  The  bark  of 
the  fruit-trees  has  roughened  and  thickened, 
and  the  buds  squeezed  up  and  fairly  burrowed 
into  the  twigs.     Men  seem  to  have  lost  that 

269 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

protective  instinct.  The  orchards  will  pull 
through  all  right,  Johnny." 

"They  can  be  trusted  to  do  their  best." 
Johnny  often  startled  people  by  speaking  of 
his  trees  as  though  they  were  conscious 
beings.  "But  why  do  such  seasons  occur? 
What  does  it  all  mean?" 

"Ah,  that  is  what  we  are  trying  to  find 
out!  All  we  know  is  that  once  in  two  gen- 
erations or  so,  varying  from  fifty  to  eighty 
years  and  coincident  with  sunspots  and  au- 
roral displays,  the  magnetic  conditions  and 
cold  of  the  polar  regions  descend  to  low  lati- 
tudes. The  periods  vary  in  duration  and 
intensity  as  in  time.  Let  us  hope  that  this 
explosion  has  spent  itself." 

Glancing  at  the  instruments  within  before 
closing  the  door  of  the  station,  the  doctor 
was  shocked  to  see  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  barometer  was  falling. 

"Another  storm  coming,  and  that  boat  not 


in!" 


The  pale  sun  was  still  shining  on  the  un- 
sullied landscape  when,  in  the  face  of  amused 
merry  -  makers,  the  doctor  unfurled  a  little 
black  storm-flag  from  his  gate-post. 

"Ethan  should  be  on  that  boat,"  he  said 

270 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

as  they  turned  into  the  house.  "He  went 
to  Boston  in  November  for  the  sheep-breed- 
ers, to  see  if  better  prices  could  not  be  got 
for  their  wool.  He  was  in  Philadelphia  last 
week,  on  his  way  home." 

The  streets  of  the  town  were  suddenly 
emptied  by  a  new  snow-storm,  which  blew  in 
on  a  thirty-mile  gale  at  the  darkening  end 
of  the  day.  A  neighbor  dropped  in  to  ask 
what  grudge  the  doctor  had  against  the  town 
that  he  should  afflict  it  so.  In  the  good  old 
Puritan  days  in  Salem  he  would  have  been 
burned  for  a  wicked  wizard. 

After  supper  Johnny  was  sitting  with  the 
family  before  an  open  fire,  where  every  one 
was  too  anxious  about  Ethan  to  talk  or  read, 
when  the  whistle  of  the  steamboat  was  heard. 
A  tortured  thing,  the  thin,  continuous  shriek- 
ing was  torn  into  shreds  and  whipped  away 
on  the  roaring  wind. 

"I  must  go,  my  dear,"  the  doctor  insisted, 
as  he  and  Johnny  slipped  into  overcoats. 
"There  will  be  sick  and  possibly  injured  peo- 
ple on  that  boat.  Have  a  hot  supper  and  a 
warm  bed  ready  for  Ethan.  I  may  be  de- 
layed, but  Johnny  can  fetch  him  up." 

Only  in  the  larger  cities  were  streets  lighted 

271 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

in  that  day,  but  curtains  were  drawn  back 
and  the  glow  of  fires  and  whale-oil  lamps 
flared  into  the  storm.  The  scared  faces  of 
women  and  children  could  be  seen  pressed 
to  window-panes.  From  every  house  men 
ran  out  and  down  Muskingum  Street  to  the 
wharf. 

The  wind,  racing  counter  to  the  current, 
had  heaped  up  the  water  in  the  narrowed 
channel  until  it  was  a  welter  of  foam-crested 
billows  and  wallowing  troughs.  The  boat 
could  not  be  seen,  but  its  shrill  whistling, 
straining  labor,  and  slithering  crashes  through 
shore  ice  could  be  heard  above  all  the  noises 
of  wind  and  flood.  Like  a  specter  it  loomed 
out  of  flying  clouds  of  snow,  keeled  over  and 
smashed  into  the  slip. 

A  cheer  went  up.  As  soon  as  the  gang- 
plank was  run  out  Johnny  went  aboard  with 
other  men  to  carry  fainting,  hysterical  and 
battered  passengers  off  and  into  the  shelter 
of  the  nearest  warehouse.  The  crowd  had 
begun  to  disperse  when  he  ran  to  the  doctor. 

"Ethan  didn't  come!" 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes.  The  captain  said  there  had  been 
heavy  snowfalls  on  the  mountains  and  the 

272 


WINTER    OF   THE    DEEP    SNOW 

stage-coach  had  not  got  in  when  he  left.  No 
mail  from  the  East  for  a  week." 

The  doctor  collapsed  on  a  bale  of  wool, 
white  as  a  tallow  candle.  "This  is  serious! 
No  telling  when  another  boat  can  get  through. 
If  the  temperature  continues  to  fall  the  river 
will  soon  freeze  over.  Johnny,  Mary  is  up 
there  on  the  farm,  with  no  help  besides  a 
bound  boy  of  sixteen,  and  she  has  a  frail 
young  baby.  Ethan  brought  in  enough  fuel 
for  an  ordinary  winter  before  he  left,  but  not 
enough  for  such  a  season  as  this.  That  hol- 
low of  the  hills  is  a  perfect  trap  for  snow. 
This  little  family  of  my  own  blood  may  be 
snowed  under  and  frozen  to  death." 

And  Mary  had  a  frail  mother  to  care  for, 
too!  Johnny's  heart  leaped  to  Betty  in  this 
new  peril,  but  he  did  not  speak  of  her.  Ex- 
cept to  Alary,  he  never  spoke  Betty's  name. 
In  a  sacred  reticence  he  had  always  held  her 
locked  in  the  inner  shrine.  Now  he  said, 
simply : 

"  Don't  worry  about  that.  It  will  be  all 
right.  I  am  going  up  there.  When  Ethan 
can  get  through  have  him  fetch  my  seeds." 

"You  can't  do  it,  Johnny!  It's  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.     You  might  make  the  rest 

273 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

of  the  way  if  you  could  get  a  boat  to  Chilli- 
cothe.  No  horse  could  travel  such  a  distance 
in  this  weather." 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  taking  a  horse.  If 
Ethan  had  come  on  this  boat  he  would  have 
gone  on?" 

"Oh  yes,  certainly ;  he  would  probably  have 
perished,  but  no  consideration  could  have  held 
him,  with  his  family  in  such  a  plight." 

"Nothing  can  hold  me."  Johnny's  eyes 
burned,  and  his  colorless  face  was  drawn  with 
emotional  strain.  There  was  some  mystery 
here — some  old  grief  that  had  never  lost  its 
keen  edge  of  pain.  The  doctor  had  always 
known  that  a  special  tie  bound  Johnny  to 
Mary's  family,  but  into  the  nature  of  it  this 
gentleman  of  delicate  mind  had  no  desire 
to  pry.  But  he  felt  the  passionate  strength 
of  it  in  the  quiet  voice  and  restrained  speech : 
"Any  man  can  do  what  he  must." 

"At  least  you  will  wait  until  this  storm 
is  over?" 

"I  will  not  wait  a  moment  after  daylight. 
It  may  storm  all  winter.  You  think  so  your- 
self. I  will  go  down-shore  through  Belpre 
to  Hockingport,  and  up  the  Hocking  River 
over  the  ice.     There  are  villages  and  farms 

274 


WINTER    OF   THE    DEEP    SNOW 

all  along  the  way,  and  no  hills  to  climb.  I 
can  make  it  in  ten  days,  even  if  there  arc 
drifts  and  with  the  wind  in  my  facc.,, 

Johnny  was  asleep  in  ten  minutes  after  he 
reached  the  house,  renewing  his  powers  for 
the  ordeal  before  him.  But  no  other  one 
of  that  prayerful  household  slept  soundly 
through  the  hours  in  which  the  wind  moaned 
in  the  chimneys,  tormented  the  trees  and 
shook  the  sashes.  By  lamplight  the  next 
morning  he  was  trussed  in  woolen  clothing 
and  furs  and  provided  like  an  Arctic  explorer. 
The  doctor  added  blue  goggles  to  protect  his 
eyes  from  snow-blindness.  Word  of  his  inten- 
tion had  filtered  through  the  storm -bound 
town,  and  a  dozen  hero-worshiping  boys  ap- 
peared to  pilot  him  across  the  Muskingum  and 
to  cheer  him  lustily  from  the  site  of  old  Fort 
Harmer.  His  answering  halloos  were  borne 
back  to  them  after  he  was  lost  to  view  in  the 
snow- veiled  woods. 

Sleet  had  fallen  in  the  night  and  formed  a 
crust  as  smooth  as  glass,  but  not  strong 
enough  to  bear  his  weight.  Through  this  he 
broke  at  every  step.  The  temperature  had 
dropped  to  five  degrees  below  zero,  and  it  was 
snowing,  again,  in  stinging  pellets  as  fine  and 

275 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

hard  as  sand,  driven  by  a  furious  gale.  There 
would  have  been  some  shelter  in  the  forest, 
but  the  road  had  disappeared,  and  he  dared 
not  risk  losing  his  way.  Facing  the  full  force 
of  the  wind,  he  made  his  way  from  tree  to 
tree  along  the  edge  of  the  woods.  Now  and 
then  he  had  a  glimpse  of  the  narrowing  strip 
of  gray  water.  Every  hour  or  so  he  stopped 
at  a  farm-house  to  get  warm  and  to  drink 
black  coffee.  In  Belpre,  where  he  slept,  he 
got  flat  staves  at  the  cooper-shop  and  fitted 
them  with  leather  straps.  On  these  ski-like 
snow-shoes,  in  a  lull  of  the  storm,  he  sped 
over  the  shore  ice  to  Hockingport. 

He  could  not  use  these  helps  in  the  valley 
of  the  Hocking,  where  loose  snow  had  been 
blown  down  from  the  hills  and  heaped  in 
drifts.  Then  the  sky  opened  again,  and  a 
cataract  of  fleece  as  soft  and  thick  as  wool 
tumbled  down  and  was  broken  to  foam 
on  a  river  of  wind.  Against  this  blast  he 
struggled  along  the  low  growth  of  the  bank, 
passing  a  town  and  a  number  of  farms  un- 
wittingly. Once,  the  near-by  house  oblitera- 
ted, he  stood  among  cattle  huddled  in  the  lee 
of  a  stable.  A  haystack  looming  out  of  the 
smother,  he  burrowed  into  it  to  sleep. 

276 


ON   THESE    SKI-LIKE   SNOW-SHOES    HE    SPED   OVER 
THE    SHORE    ICE 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

Not  until  late  in  the  spring  did  the  people 
of  Ohio  learn  that  the  entire  Mississippi  Val- 
ley was  in  the  grip  of  this  storm,  which  opened 
with  a  crash  in  the  last  week  of  December. 
A  wonder,  at  first,  it  soon  became  a  terror, 
then  a  benumbing,  bewildering  horror,  as  it 
raged  for  days  unabated.  Changing  in  char- 
acter from  time  to  time — running  the  gamut 
of  rain  and  snow  and  sleet,  veering  winds  and 
minus  zero  temperatures — it  continued  to  im- 
peril the  lives  of  men  and  animals.  Travelers 
caught  out  in  it  lay  over  for  days  in  the  first 
shelter  to  be  found.  In  a  few  historic  in- 
stances men  did  get  through;  but  many 
more  perished.  When  the  snow  went  off  in 
March  the  bodies  of  strangers  were  found  in 
the  woods  and  on  the  prairies.  And  this  was 
but  the  overture  to  a  winter  of  storm. 

Johnny  went  on.  The  only  sign  of  life, 
now,  in  storm-beleaguered  villages,  was  the 
faint  glimmer  of  light  through  snow-incrusted 
windows.  In  spite  of  huge  fires,  farm-houses 
were  cold.  Shelterless  cattle  were  turned 
into  fields  to  help  themselves  to  what  food 
they  could  paw  and  pull  from  shocks  and 
stacks.  With  creeks,  ponds  and  wells  frozen, 
men  were  melting  snow  in  soap-kettles  which 

278 


WINTER    OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

were  fitted  into  the  tops  of  brick  and  clay 
ovens  under  sheds  in  the  yards.  Ropes  were 
stretched  from  doors  to  barns  and  to  buried 
wood-piles,  to  guide  men  in  and  out  on  life- 
saving  errands. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days  he  had  reached  the 
upper  end  of  the  Hocking  Valley,  and  was 
obliged  to  skirt  the  hills  and  to  make  his  way 
across  a  tract  of  tangled  marshland  to  the 
Scioto.  For  miles  here  there  were  no  houses. 
All  landmarks  had  disappeared.  Once  a  wolf 
tracked  him  for  a  long  distance,  for  there  were 
still  a  few  of  these  raiders  of  the  flocks  in  the 
rough  hills  of  Ohio.  His  feet  wxre  frost- 
bitten when  he  reached  the  river-bank  and 
was  guided  to  a  house  by  a  glimmer  of  light 
through  the  gauzy  veils  of  snow.  There, 
unable  to  get  his  boots  on,  he  was  obliged  to 
lie  over  for  a  day.  The  delay  was  an  eternity 
of  mental  agony,  for  the  situation  of  people 
had  become  alarming.  Every  family  was 
marooned,  with  starving  and  freezing  cattle 
and  diminishing  wood-piles. 

By  noon  the  next  day  he  was  able  to  speed 
up  the  river  on  his  snow-shoes,  over  a  new, 
glazed  surface.  But  when  he  turned  west- 
ward into  the  creek  he  faced  a  bitter  wind 

19  279 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

and  a  dazzling  light  on  the  glittering  ice,  for 
against  the  gray  sky  a  white  sun  shone  for 
a  time,  its  disk  clearly  marked  by  a  halo  of 
prismatic  colors.  A  slaty  dome  was  darken- 
ing above  the  white  fields  when  he  reached 
the  home  of  his  heart. 

In  that  trap  for  drifting  snow  the  house 
was  sunk  to  the  window-sills.  But  cheerful 
firelight  glowed  through  the  panes  and  from 
an  out-oven  under  a  shed.  There,  as  he 
thought,  the  bound  boy  was  shoveling  snow 
into  the  big  iron  kettle.  Hearing  his  foot- 
steps crunching  through  the  crust  as  he 
stumbled  up  into  the  yard,  the  figure  turned. 
It  was  Mary,  in  a  suit  of  Ethan's  old  working- 
clothes,  who  dropped  the  shovel  and  ran  tow- 
ard him. 

''Ethan!  Oh  my  dear,  my  dear!  Thank 
God  you  have  come!" 

"It's  Johnny,  Mary!"  He  caught  her  and 
held  her  while  she  sobbed  on  his  shoulder. 
"Why,  Alary,  dear  little  Mary-go- 'round, 
this  isn't  like  you!  Ethan's  all  right.  He 
missed  the  boat,  so,  of  course,  I  came." 

She  laughed  and  wept  hysterically.  "I 
don't  know  which  I've  been  the  most  afraid 
of — that    Ethan    would    come,    or    that    he 

280 


WINTER   OF    THE    DEEP    SNOW 

wouldn't.  So  much  trouble  this  year,  all 
coming  at  once,  has  sapped  my  courage  and 
strength.  I  guess  there  isn't— quite  enough 
of  me — to  go  'round — this  time,  Johnny." 

"Why  are  you  doing  such  work  as  this? 
Where's  that  boy?" 

"Otto?  Getting  the  sheep  into  the  fold 
that  he  boarded  in  on  the  hill-slope  under  the 
barn  floor.  He's  a  good,  strong,  German  boy, 
Johnny,  doing  more  than  a  man's  work.  We 
have  to  keep  this  fire  going  to  supply  the 
stock  and  the  house  with  water." 

"Well,  go  in  now  and  see  if  you  can  cook 
enough  for  two  men."  He  was  extraordi- 
narily happy  as  he  took  up  a  pail  of  water 
and  followed  her  along  the  tunnel-like  path 
to  the  house.  His  orchards  were  resisting 
the  weather,  and  it  was  his  blessed  privilege 
to  protect  and  cherish  Betty  and  her  loved 
ones  until  Ethan  should  return. 

For  an  hour  he  melted  snow,  and  worked 
about  the  animals  which  were  crowded  into 
the  stable,  whistling  all  the  while.  Then  he 
milked  the  cows.  Now  for  a  heartening 
supper,  ease  for  his  frost-bitten  feet,  and 
an  evening  of  joy!  The  wind  had  died 
down  and  sparkling  stars  come  out  when  he 

281 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

started  toward  the  house  again.  Then  the 
hush,  the  icy  chill,  the  rosy  blush  spreading 
along  the  horizon  and  climbing  to  the  zenith 
in  pulsing  flares  of  splendor!  In  a  stillness 
broken  only  by  electric  cracklings  in  the  air, 
the  snow-laden  trees  in  the  orchard  were 
stained  to  a  sardonic  semblance  of  the  April 
blossoming. 

Another  storm!  No  rest,  now,  no  safety 
for  any  one,  until,  in  frantic  haste,  more 
work  was  done.  In  such  apprehension  as 
he  had  never  before  felt,  he  went  in  and 
set  the  pails  of  milk  on  the  floor.  No  one 
was  in  the  low-ceiled,  fire-lit  living-room; 
no  breath  of  wind  was  stirring,  but,  as  he 
opened  the  door,  Betty's  little  empty  chair 
swayed  lightly  on  its  rockers.  A  surge  of 
memory  swept  him  back  to  the  hour  and  the 
room  in  which  Mary  Lake  had  died.  A 
wistful,  hovering  presence,  loath  to  leave 
those  long  loved  on  earth,  her  spirit  had 
seemed  to  linger  before  taking  its  final  flight. 
This  room,  too,  had  its  gentle  ghost. 

Hearing  him,  Mary  hastened  in  from  the 
kitchen.  The  face  of  the  delicate  baby  on 
her  arm  was  a  snowdrop  against  her  sable 
breast,  for  Mary  was  dressed  in  the  unrelieved 

282 


WINTER    OF   THE    DEEP    SNOW 

black  of  mourning.  At  that  he  cried  out, 
hoarsely : 

"Where's  Betty?" 

She  burst  into  tears,  her  grief  fresh  at  the 
sight  of  his. 

"Oh,  Johnny,  I  didn't  know  where  to  write, 
you  move  about  so.  Didn't  Dr.  Hildreth 
tell  you?  Mother — died — suddenly — three 
months  ago." 


XII 


UNDYING   LOVE 


E  stood  there,  stunned  by  the 
shock,  shaken  to  the  founda- 
tions of  his  faith,  that  Betty 
^J  could  drop  out  of  life  and  he 
live  on,  unknowing,  and  with 
no  sense  of  loss.  Then  a  com- 
forting reassurance  filled  his  mind  and  heart. 
He  had  known!  And  he  had  not  lost  her! 
When  he  spoke  it  was  in  assertion: 

"It  was  early  in  October;    in  that  brief 
season  of  Indian  summer." 

"Yes,  Johnny,  but  you  could  not  know!" 
"I  knew!  She  told  me  about  it  herself, 
but  I  did  not  understand."  He  described 
the  heavenly  voice  with  its  tidings  of  great 
joy,  preparing  his  soul  for  the  vision  of  that 
hazy  moonlit  evening  on  the  St.  Joseph  River. 
"She  appeared  to  me  like  that  to  comfort 
us  all  with  the  thought  that  she  was  as  well 

284 


UNDYING    LOVE 

and  happy  as  the  little  girl  I  knew  and  loved 
in  Marietta — immortally  young  and  well  and 
happy,  all  her  cares  and  pains  and  tragic 
memories  fallen  from  her.  Oh,  Mary,  heaven 
is  not  far  away,  but  within  and  close  around 
us."  Then  with  entire  unconsciousness  he 
used  one  of  Betty's  endearing  mannerisms  of 
speech:  "Don't  cry  so;  please,  dear.  It 
grieves  her." 

It  gave  her  the  strange,  consoling  feeling 
that  her  mother  was  speaking  to  her  through 
him.  As  the  chill  of  the  dropping  tempera- 
ture penetrated  the  house  and  the  pathetic, 
uncomplaining  child  shivered  in  her  arms, 
she  went  to  Betty's  wardrobe-chest  and  took 
out  the  scarlet  cloak  to  wrap  around  it. 

"I  could  not  bear  to  use  this  before,  John- 
ny, but  now  I  can.  Nothing  else  seems  to 
keep  my  pale  little  Blossom  so  warm."  The 
splendid  color  trailing  to  the  floor,  and  Mary's 
words,  reminded  him  of  Betty's  girlish  fancy 
about  Mrs. Blennerhasset's  riding-habit:  "No 
day  could  be  so  dark  and  cold  but  that  glow- 
ing thing  would  warm  and  cheer  it." 

Now  he  had  something  to  say  that  would 
try  the  soul  of  the  bravest:  "That  is  your 
part,  Mary,  to  stay  in  the  house,  cherish  this 

285 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

frail  little  life,  and  keep  us  all  warm  and  in 
good  cheer.  Can  you  be  brave?  Another 
storm  is  coming;  and  Dr.  Hildreth  thinks  it 
may  storm  all  winter,  as  it  did  in  that  ter- 
rible season  of  Valley  Forge.  Ethan  may 
not  be  able  to  get  through  until  spring.  Let 
us  pray  that  he  may  not  try." 

She  went  white  and  swallowed  hard,  but 
with  a  new  understanding  of  their  peril,  and 
gratitude  for  the  love  which  had  impelled 
him  to  make  this  desperate  journey  for  their 
protection,  she  returned  his  look  with  one  of 
resolute  courage. 

"I  should  be  ashamed  to  fail  you,  Johnny. 
Tell  me  what  I  must  do." 

"Get  supper  at  once,"  was  his  practical 
suggestion.  "Otto  and  I  will  need  plenty 
of  hot  food  to  keep  us  going  for  some  hours 
yet." 

In  a  moment,  so  did  he  imbue  them  all 
with  his  undismayed  spirit,  the  household, 
which  for  two  weeks  had  lived  in  a  state  of 
half -paralyzed  alarm,  began  to  wear  its 
normal  aspect  of  cheerful  industry.  While 
one  child  laid  the  table  and  Mary  pre- 
pared supper,  Little  Betty  sat  in  the  low 
rocking-chair  and  held  the  baby.     With  two 

286 


UNDYING    LOVE 

boisterous  little   ones  scrambling  over  him, 
and  a  tired  collie  sprawling  and  lolling  at  his 
feet,  Johnny  took  the  strong  and  willing  G 
man  boy  into  his  confidence. 

After  a  hasty  meal  they  went  out  together, 
comrades  in  arms  for  the  weeks  of  battling 
with  arctic  weather  which  lay  before  them. 
By  the  spectral  illuminations  in  the  sky  they 
stretched    guide-ropes   to   outbuildings,  bed- 
ded the  stock,  fetched  in  a  week's  supply  of 
wood,  and,  digging  the  rest  of  the  fuel  out 
of  the  snow,  stored  it  in  the  oven-shed.     It 
was  ten  o'clock  when  they  came  in,  the  boy 
to  fall  asleep  at  once  in  his  warm  feather-bed 
in  the  loft,  and  Johnny—     His  days  of  men- 
tal and  physical  strain,  followed  by  the  spirit- 
ual shock,  and  that  by  further  hours  of  toil, 
had   brought    their   reaction    of   mood.     He 
stood  within   the   door,   struggling   for   self- 
control,  hollow-eyed  with  the  torturing  fear 
that  Betty  might  have  been  laid  away  in  that 
most  desolate  and  forlorn  of  all  earthly  pla< 
—the  remote  and  neglected  country-  burying- 
ground.     He  could  not  bear  to  think  of  her 
as  forsaken,  out  alone  in  the  cold  and  dark- 
ness and  coming  storm. 

''Where — where  is  she,  Mary?" 

287 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"In  the  orchard,  Johnny,  under  the  tree 
with  the  drooping  branches,  where  she  loved 
to  sit  in  the  little  rocking-chair.' ' 

He  went  out  again  to  pace  the  drifted  aisles, 
and  to  sit  on  the  bench  under  the  twin  trees 
where,  on  one  morning  of  many  a  spring,  he 
had  wakened  to  see  her  so  blithe  and  hap- 
py under  the  tent  of  pink  bloom.  Now  he 
watched  beside  her  frozen  bed,  questioning  his 
guidance.  He  had  left  her,  and  through  dan- 
ger, hardship  and  grief  she  had  come  to  this 
untimely  end.  The  snow  laid  so  deep  above 
her  was  spread  with  reflections  from  the  cold 
fires  in  the  sky,  a  mockery  of  the  comfort  and 
glow  of  the  fireside;  and  the  snow-burdened, 
rose-tinted  trees  of  his  generation  of  patient 
planting  and  yearning  love  might  well  have 
their  next  blooming  beside  the  River  of  Life. 
Had  his  sacrifice  been  in  vain? 

Chilled  to  the  bone,  trembling  with  ex- 
haustion, rilled  with  profound  spiritual  con- 
fusion, for  even  the  angels,  he  believed,  have 
their  hours  of  dark  discouragement  and  sepa- 
ration from  God,  he  returned  to  the  house. 
On  the  hearth  he  passed  his  hand  across  his 
eyes  in  an  effort  to  recall  some  urgent  reality 
of  the  physical  world. 


UNDYING    LOVE 

"There  is  something — I  think  my  feet 
need  some  attention,  Mary." 

They  were  white  and  shrunken  with  frost. 
When  thawed  out  to  a  swollen  and  burning 
redness  he  was  obliged  to  sit  helpless  for 
two  days,  while  a  fresh  fall  of  snow  was  laid 
to  the  depth  of  fifteen  more  inches  over  the 
entire  Mississippi  Valley.  But,  in  Ethan's 
larger  socks  and  boots,  he  was  out  in  the  bliz- 
zard of  wind  which  blew  the  loose  snow  down 
from  the  circling  ridge. 

No  morning  dawned  thereafter  in  which  the 
temperature  was  above  zero.  Day  after  gray, 
lowery  da}'  the  wind  was  a  steady,  fierce  gale 
with  new  snow  falling,  or  old  snow  blowing  be- 
fore it.  Fences,  corn-shocks  and  low  outbuild- 
ings were  submerged.  Doors  banked  over- 
night had  to  be  cleared  for  exit,  windows  for 
daylight ;  runways  plowed  in  the  barn-yard  so 
animals  could  be  let  out  for  air  and  exercise; 
snow  broken  up  and  shoveled  from  under  or- 
chard trees,  when  the  lower  limbs  lay  on  the 
surface  and  bruised  their  bark  by  threshing 
over  a  glazing  of  sleet.  And,  daily,  snow  had 
to  be  melted  for  water ;  corn,  hay  and  bedding- 
straw  dug  out  of  frozen  tombs ;  feed  cut  up  for 
sheep,  and  warmed  for  pigs  and  chickens. 

289 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

The  house  was  well  stocked  with  food,  but 
as  the  bitter  weather  continued  unabated, 
and  the  supply  of  fuel  ran  low,  all  Johnny's 
waking  hours  and  troubled  dreams  were  filled 
with  alarm.  Ethan  had  left  a  quantity  of 
cord-wood  in  the  forest,  but  even  if  it  could  be 
located  and  uncovered  horses  could  not  be 
driven  into  the  woods  where  low  branches 
rested  on  the  ground,  and  their  legs  could 
not  plumb  the  great  depths  of  crusted  layers 
of  snow.  Johnny  and  Otto  felled  small  trees 
along  the  creek,  and  dragged  the  logs  up 
into  the  yard  with  ropes.  This  wood  was 
wet  and  green,  and  warmed  the  house  so  ill 
that  on  the  coldest  days  the  children  were 
kept  in  bed. 

By  incessant  toil  and  sleepless  vigilance 
the  twin  specters  of  freezing  and  famine  were 
kept  at  bay ;  but  the  bitter  cold,  biting  winds 
and  bewildering  blurs  or  stinging  blasts  of 
snow  became  an  obsession.  And  there  was 
danger  to  the  mind  in  this  storm-beleaguered 
isolation.  From  the  last  week  of  December 
no  travelers  were  seen  on  the  road.  Rarely 
did  the  air  clear  sufficiently  for  the  nearest 
neighbor,  a  half-mile  distant,  to  be  hailed 
with  dinner-horn  and  fluttered  table-cloth; 

290 


UNDYING    LOVE 

and  if  a  letter  from  Ethan  lay  in  the  village 
post-office,  three  miles  away,  it  might  as  well 
have  been  in  the  moon.  Upon  their  hearts 
lay  the  unspoken  fear  that  Ethan  might 
have  tried  to  get  through,  and  was  now  lost 
in  some  tragic  mystery  never  to  be  solved 
until  Judgment  Day.  For  all  they  knew,  the 
earth  had  swung  into  some  cataclysmic  cycle 
and  lay  forever  congealed,  all  life  locked  in 
crystal  prisons,  to  be  sepultured  in  imme- 
morial snow. 

The  white  mantle  had  lain  unsullied  on  the 
frozen  earth  for  ten  weeks,  and  had  increased 
to  the  depth  of  four  feet  on  the  level,  with 
every  valley,  hollow,  forest,  fence  and  build- 
ing a  trap  for  deeper  drifts,  when  Johnny 
was  awakened  one  morning  in  March  by 
the  sound  of  water  dripping  from  the  eaves. 
He  scrambled  into  his  clothing  and  ran  out 
into  the  soft  glow  of  the  rising  sun  and  a 
balmy  southern  breeze. 

"A  thaw,  Alary!  The  snow  is  going  off!" 
he  cried.  He  was  wild  with  relief  himself, 
and  Mary  broke  into  such  tears  and  laughter 
as  frightened  the  children  when  she  gathered 
them  into  her  arms  for  morning  prayers. 

It  was  true !     It  was  unbelievably  true  that 

291 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

water  was  dripping  everywhere,  from  eaves 
and  trees,  and  trickling  away  in  clear  riv- 
ulets. Avalanches  slid  from  roofs;  trees 
dropped  their  white  burdens;  buried  things 
emerged,  and  the  snow  sank  visibly.  In  three 
days  they  watched  the  wild  ducks  and  geese 
go  north,  hour  after  hour,  in  hurrying  flight. 
Then  the  sky  brightened ;  patches  and  fringes 
of  misty  emerald  appeared;  song-sparrows, 
phcebes  and  bluebirds  arrived,  and  the  buds 
swelled  and  turned  green  on  the  lilac-bushes 
and  fruit-trees.  The  orchards  had  weath- 
ered this  historic  winter! 

With  a  bright  apple-twig  in  his  button- 
hole, Johnny  went  slopping  about  in  the 
wet,  making  preparations  for  the  coming 
flood.  Soon  Betty  would  have  her  tender 
coverlet  of  grass,  and  birds  and  blossoms 
would  burst  into  song,  color  and  perfume 
above  her.  He  could  bear  to  think  of 
her  as  here  in  this  dear,  familiar  place,  cher- 
ished by  those  she  had  loved.  All  summer 
she  would  lie  in  shine  and  shade  and  shower, 
under  silver  moon  and  soft  starlight,  and  in 
his  beneficent  wanderings  he  would  have 
her  with  him,  in  spirit,  under  the  same 
kind  canopy. 

292 


UNDYING    LOVE 

And  now  he  could  bear  another  thing  which 
had  haunted  his  nights  of  sleepless  pain. 
It  was  certain  that,  in  the  Northern  woods 
and  on  the  treeless  prairies,  the  snow  must 
have  lain  deeper,  the  temperatures  fallen 
lower,  the  wind  raged  with  destructive  force. 
Undoubtedly  his  nurseries  and  young  or- 
chards in  Michigan  and  Indiana  had  per- 
ished, and  his  five  years  of  labor  there  been 
brought  to  naught.  But  that  was  of  small 
importance  compared  with  the  suffering,  and 
the  loss  of  crops  and  live-stock,  by  thousands 
of  new  settlers  who  would  sink  at  once  into 
deeper  poverty.  It  was  his  to  keep  them  from 
falling  into  despair.  Better  luck  next  time! 
Better  days  coming! 

The  vision  of  sublime  service  to  humanity 
brightened  and  beckoned  as  the  blossoming 
maples  began  to  light  their  fires  of  spring 
along  the  edges  of  the  woods  and  water- 
courses. He  waited  only  on  Ethan's  return 
with  his  seeds  to  be  off  to  his  blighted  fields. 

Before  the  end  of  that  week  of  thaw,  the 
ice  of  the  snow-flooded  creek  suddenly  broke 
up  and  went  out  with  the  crashing  reports  of 
artillery.  Water  swept  up  the  lawn  to  the 
door-step,  and  a  wild  torrent  uprooted  trees 

293 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

and  carried  them  away,  together  with  small 
buildings  and  luckless  animals.  In  the  sta- 
ble at  the  time,  Johnny  ran  out,  driving  the 
horses  before  him  and  shouting  to  Otto  and 
the  collie  to  get  the  cattle  and  sheep  up  on 
higher  ground.  Mary,  standing  in  the  door- 
way, screamed  a  warning  as  the  oven-shed 
was  whirled  into  the  flood;  but  Johnny  saw 
the  danger  too  late.  Struck  by  a  corner  of 
the  roof,  he  went  down. 

The  dog  dragged  him  out,  and  Mary, 
struggling  through  rushing,  ice-blocked  water 
to  her  knees,  led  him  to  the  house.  Dazed 
by  the  blow,  he  still  remembered  his  errand 
of  mercy  and  would  have  broken  from  her, 
but  she  made  him  understand,  at  last,  that 
the  animals  had  all  swum  to  safety.  She 
bandaged  the  swelling  bruise  on  his  head; 
but  when  she  had  got  him  into  bed  he  sank, 
almost  at  once,  into  a  dreadful  stupor  with 
heavy,  labored  breathing. 

No  help  for  him  who  had  kept  them  all 
from  perishing!  When  he  became  violently 
ill,  the  utmost  that  she  could  do  was  to  try 
to  relieve  his  headache  and  nausea;  and 
when  fever  came  up  and  he  wandered  in  his 
mind,  she  sat  beside  him  in  tearless  anguish 

294 


UNDYING    LOVE 

and  kept  cold  water  on  his  burning,  restless 
head.  She  scarcely  noticed  the  rapid  going 
down  of  the  flood,  the  sudden  disappearance 
of  the  sun  at  midday,  the  slaty  sky  of  night 
glittering  with  blue-white  electric  points,  the 
flickering  fires  which  played  with  sinister 
splendor  along  the  northern  horizon,  or  the 
icy  chill  of  the  air. 

The  last  of  the  green  wood  was  gone. 
Otto  built  up  a  smoking,  sputtering  fire  with 
the  water-soaked  wreckage  strewn  about  the 
yard.  That  night  the  soft  earth  and  the 
creek,  which  had  returned  to  its  channel, 
were  frozen  to  iron.  Then  on  a  polar  gale 
the  wild  water-fowl  fled  southward  from  frigid 
lands  of  famine.  The  leaden  sky  of  dawn  was 
black  with  them,  screaming  before  the  blast. 
For  two  days  the  house  rocked  in  the  arctic 
tempest,  and  the  world  was  obliterated  in 
flying  clouds  of  snow  as  thick  and  impene- 
trable as  a  fog  at  sea. 

Through  all  the  noises  and  horrors  of  that 
storm  Johnny  raved  in  delirium.  At  times 
it  took  both  Alary  and  Otto  to  hold  him  in 
bed.  He  cried  out  for  his  seeds,  and  was 
comforted  only  for  the  moment  by  the  assur- 
ance that  Ethan  would  fetch  them.     When 

20  295 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

he  reached  out  his  arms  for  the  little  rocking- 
chair,  Mary  brought  it  to  the  bedside;  and 
when  he  stared  at  the  scarlet  cloak  hanging 
on  the  wall  and  muttered  about  the  cold, 
she  spread  it  over  him.  But  when  he  begged 
her  to  put  it  over  Betty  to  warm  and  cheer 
her,  she  knew  nothing  of  that  old  memory 
which  surged  up  and  beat  upon  his  heart, 
and  could  only  weep  in  her  helplessness. 

"Oh,  Johnny,  try  to  remember!  Mother 
is  warm  and  happy  in  heaven." 

As  the  storm  died  away  in  fitful  gusts  of 
sleet,  and  the  cold  hardened  to  minus  de- 
grees that  chilled  the  blood,  he  became  quiet- 
er. Thinking  that  he  slept  at  last,  and  pray- 
ing for  Ethan  to  come  in  this  extremity  of 
peril,  Mary  lay  down,  without  undressing,  to 
nurse  the  baby  whose  delicate  bloom  of  re- 
viving life  she  owed  to  Johnny's  care  of  them 
all. 

Then  her  exhaustion  betrayed  her.  In  the 
blessed  silence  and  darkness,  after  that  long 
time  of  storm  and  stress,  she  fell  asleep.  The 
first  things  of  which  she  was  vaguely  aware, 
in  the  early  hours  of  morning,  were  the  frantic 
barking  of  the  dog,  and  the  river  of  cold 
which  was  flowing  through  the  house.     And 

296 


UNDYING    LOVE 

whether  in  her  dream  or  waking  she  never 
knew,  but  she  heard  her  mother's  voice: 

"Mary,  you  go  'round,  dear,  and  look  after 
Johnny." 

How  sweet  it  was — the  gentle  tones,  the 
quaint  phrase  treasured  in  her  memory. 
But  this  was  not  spoken  in  the  old  manner 
of  reminding  a  thoughtless  child  of  duty  in 
the  midst  of  play,  but  was  anxious,  insistent, 
pleading  : 

"Mary,  Mary,  Mary!  You  go  'round, 
dear,  and  look  after  Johnny!" 

She  suddenly  sat  up,  wide  awake  and  with 
a  sense  of  danger.  Somewhere  in  the  yard 
the  dog  was  barking  continuously  in  wild 
alarm.  The  door  was  open.  Johnny's  bed 
was  empty. 

She  found  him,  the  collie  standing  guard 
beside  him,  lying  cold  and  senseless  on  Betty's 
snowy  grave,  over  which  he  had  spread  the 
warm,  red  cloak.  When  she  and  Otto  had 
carried  him  in,  Mary  put  the  brooms,  the 
butter-bowls,  the  children's  stools — every 
small,  dry,  wooden  thing  at  hand — into  the 
fire  to  heat  blankets  and  water,  and  bade 
the  frightened  boy  strip  the  fences  of  their 
top  rails. 

297 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

"Keep  the  fire  going!  Burn  every  fence 
and  building  on  the  place,  if  you  must,  but 
keep  up  the  fire!  Here  is  one  of  God's  angels 
perishing." 

It  was  an  hour  before  Johnny's  heart  beat 
with  its  full  force,  and  from  the  death-like 
chill  he  passed  into  fever  and  delirium.  The 
day  dawned  bright  and  still  and  intensely 
cold,  the  sun  shining  on  dazzling  fields  of  ice- 
glazed  snow,  and  waking  a  million  sparkles 
from  swollen  green  buds  frozen  in  the  hearts 
of  icicles. 

They  were  all  around  his  bed — Mary  and 
Ethan,  and  the  good  doctor  for  whom  Ethan 
had  "swum  through  high  water  to  Columbus," 
on  the  bleak  April  day  that  Johnny  returned 
to  consciousness.  A  winter  that  had  streaked 
young  Ethan's  head  with  silver  had  bleached 
Johnny's  hair  and  beard  to  the  snowy  white- 
ness of  the  pillow  on  which  he  lay.  He  knew 
them,  and  the  old  smile  of  love  and  gentle  hap- 
piness lighted  his  cavernous  eyes  and  wasted 
face;  but  in  a  moment  he  looked  beyond  them, 
around  the  room,  in  wistful  inquiry.  Mary 
had  to  lean  over  him  to  hear  the  faintly 
spoken  words: 

"Where's  Betty?" 

298 


UNDYING    LOVE 

"Why,  Johnny,  don't  you  remember?'1 
And  then,  seeing  how  it  was  with  him,  that 

he  mercifully  remembered  nothing  of  the  sor- 
row and  terror  and  hardships  of  that  night- 
mare of  a  winter,  she  finished,  "Mother's 
in  the  orchard,  Johnny." 

"Are  the  trees  in  bloom ?" 

"Not — not  yet."  The  fruit-trees  of  Ohio 
did  grow  another  set  of  buds,  and,  late  in 
May,  put  forth  a  few,  pale,  scattered  blooms. 

His  presence  here,  in  this  home  of  his  heart, 
seemed  perfectly  natural,  and  about  his  ill- 
ness he  expressed  neither  surprise  nor  curi- 
osity, but  accepted  it  with  the  unquestion- 
ing simplicity  and  patience  of  a  child.  They 
all  hung  upon  his  next  words. 

"Betty  will  want — her  little  rocking-chair." 

Ethan  jumped  up.  "That's  right,  John- 
ny.    Don't  you  let  me  forget  my  manners." 

He  carried  the  chair  out  to  the  orchard. 
Mary  found  him  there  on  Johnny's  bench, 
his  gaunt  face  buried  in  his  hands.  His 
arms  tightened  around  her  and  the  precious 
little  rosy  Blossom  on  her  breast. 

"Mary,  while  I  lay  in  Marietta  with  the 
broken  rib  I  got  in  the  boat-wreck,  I  should 
have  gone  raving  mad  if  I  had  not  known 

299 


JOHNNY    APP.LESEED 

that  Johnny  was  here.  To  think  that  I 
should  find  you  all  safe  and  well,  not  even  a 
silly  sheep  lost,  and  him  lying  like  that! 
And  I  dropped  his  seeds  in  the  flood  when 
the  ice  went  out  under  me  on  the  Scioto/' 
He  clenched  his  fists,  and  the  few,  slow,  diffi- 
cult tears  of  the  man  of  Puritan  ancestry 
were  squeezed  out  and  hung  on  his  lashes. 
"I'd  sweat  blood  to  have  Johnny  his  old 
self  again  and  to  get  his  seeds  back  for  him." 

"It  is  unlikely  that  he  will  ever  ask  for 
them,"  the  doctor  said,  as  he  joined  them. 
"He  has  had  a  concussion  of  the  brain  from 
the  blow  on  his  head,  and  that  was  followed 
by  brain-fever  of  such  severity  and  persistency 
that  his  recovery  is  surprising.  Has  he  been 
under  mental  strain  or  suffered  some  emo- 
tional shock?" 

Since  the  mischief  was  done  and  it  would 
avail  nothing,  Mary  could  not  speak  of  the 
effect  of  her  mother's  death  on  Johnny. 
"He  felt  responsible  for  all  of  us  and  worked 
far  beyond  his  strength.  And  he  was  anxious 
about  the  orchards,  especially  his  young 
trees  and  nurseries  farther  west — slept  ill  all 
winter,"  she  said.  As  long  as  she  lived  she 
never  could  forget  how  often  he  had  got  up 

300 


UNDYING    LOVE 

in  the  night  to  pace  the  floor  of  his  little  room 
for  hours,  or  to  go  out  to  lonely  vigils  by 
Betty's  ice-locked  grave;  and  she  could  never 
speak  of  that  time  to  any  one  but  Ethan. 

"It  has  been  a  trying  season  for  every  one," 
was  the  doctor's  sober  comment.  "The 
minds  of  many  people  have  been  more  or  less 
affected.  Johnny's  young  plantations  in  the 
West  have  all  been  destroyed,  I  am  afraid, 
with  the  crops  and  stock  and  much  of  the 
game,  for  the  snow  lay  ten  feet  deep  on  the 
prairies.  He  may  always  be  spared  the 
knowledge  of  this  loss,  for  there  is  a  lapse 
of  memory  extending  over  several  years,  and 
some  mental  confusion.  Well,  Ohio  has  its 
orchards — a  debt  to  Johnny  that  we  can 
never  pay.  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  he 
gets  back  his  physical  vigor,  but  be  pa- 
tient and  hopeful.  I  think  he  will  improve 
in  both  body  and  mind.  Just  now"  —  he 
tapped  his  own  head  significantly — "Johnny 
isn't  all  here." 

When  he  was  gone  Mary  turned  and  wept 
on  Ethan's  breast.  "Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear, 
I  understand  Johnny's  devotion  to  us  who 
never  did  anything  to  deserve  it.  Once  in 
his  ravings  he  cried  out,   'I'll  take  care  of 

301 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

your  babies,  Betty!'  He  rescued  us  all  in 
the  war,  he  made  this  home  beautiful  for 
us  twice,  and  he  always  has  watched  over  us. 
In  some  strange  way  that  I  am  content  never 
to  know,  he  belonged  to  mother.  Now  he  is 
ours,  to  love  and  hold  in  reverence,  and,  if 
he  is  always  to  be  like  this,  to  care  for  ten- 
derly as  long  as  he  lives." 

Ethan  wrote  at  once  to  his  cousin,  Dr.  Hil- 
dreth,  to  assure  him  that  the  family  and 
stock  had  come  through  the  winter  unharmed, 
owing  to  Johnny's  care,  and  that  Johnny 
himself  had  been  seriously  ill,  but  was  now 
recovering.  As  there  would  be  no  seed  for 
his  gleaning  this  year,  people  must  not  be 
alarmed  if  he  was  not  seen  along  his  old 
routes. 

"Nothing  keeps  so  well  as  bad  news,"  he 
remarked  to  Mary  as  he  sealed  the  letter. 
"Let  us  work  and  pray  that  in  another  year 
there  will  be  none  to  tell  about  Johnny." 

As  a  beginning  in  that  labor  of  love  Mary 
laid  aside  the  mourning  which  bewildered 
and  distressed  him.  By  and  by  he  ceased 
to  ask  for  Betty.  It  was  as  though  he  had 
found  her  and  was  companioned  by  some 
presence,  invisible  to  others,  in  which  he  had 

302 


UNDYING    LOVE 

a  quiet  happiness.  The  little  rocking-chair, 
with  the  scarlet  cloak  thrown  over  it,  stood 
by  his  bedside,  and  when  he  got  up  it  v. 
returned  to  its  old  place  on  the  hearth. 
Often  when  Johnny  lay  before  the  fire  with 
his  Bible  or  other  book,  he  looked  up  at  who- 
ever might  be  sitting  in  it,  smiled,  and  read 
something  aloud.  They  soon  learned  that 
he  loved  to  see  it  occupied  by  Mary  or  Little 
Betty,  with  the  baby  in  arms. 

Ethan  cleared  the  yard  of  wreckage,  cut 
away  dead  and  broken  limbs,  and  grubbed 
out  winter-killed  trees  and  shrubbery;  and 
the  children  gathered  up  and  buried  the 
many  little  bundles  of  feathers  which  lay 
under  perches.  Everything  possible  was  done 
to  give  the  place  its  normal,  seasonal  aspect; 
but  the  summer  which  followed  the  winter 
of  the  deep  snow  was  dark  and  inclement. 
They  were  anxious  about  the  effect  upon 
Johnny  the  first  time  he  came  out  into  a 
day  of  threatening  clouds  and  fitful  sunshine. 
Puzzled  by  the  sodden,  dropping  leaves,  the 
absence  of  bloom  and  fruit,  and  by  the 
scarcity  of  birds  and  bees,  he  asked: 

"What  season  is  it?" 

"It's  June,  Johnny." 

3°3 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

"But  there  are  no  apples!" 

"Ohio  has  been  lucky,  but  we  must  ex- 
pect a  crop  failure  now  and  then."  Ethan 
tried  to  speak  lightly,  but  it  was  difficult 
not  to  be  candid  with  Johnny.  "A  freeze 
in  March  killed  the  first  buds,  and  the  season 
has  been  bad  for  everything." 

He  stared  at  them  wildly  "  I  never  heard 
of  such  a  thing  happening  in  Ohio.  I — I 
don't  remember  anything  about  it." 

"You  were  very  ill  at  the  time,  Johnny." 
In  spite  of  her  the  tears  welled  into  Mary's 
eyes,  his  bewilderment  and  distress  were  so 
piteous.  But  she  was  inspired  to  add :  "You 
know  you  always  stop  to  spend  a  day  with — 
with  mother  in  the  spring." 

The  mystery  cleared,  he  lost  his  look  of 
alarm,  and,  his  interest  in  himself  always  of 
the  slightest,  he  dismissed  the  matter  from 
his  mind.  "Are  the  orchards  like  this  all 
over  Ohio?" 

Ethan  nodded,  and  they  waited  with  sus- 
pended breath,  half  fearing,  half  hoping  that 
he  would  ask  for  the  seeds  lost  in  the  flood 
and  for  his  blighted  plantations  in  Michigan 
and  Indiana.  But  for  him  those  disasters 
had  never  happened    and  Betty  had  never 

3°4 


UNDYING    LOVE 

died.  As  it  was  with  her,  all  his  cares  and 
pains  and  tragic  memories  had  fallen  from 
him.  He  held  only  to  the  great  fundamentals 
— his  undying  love  for  her  and  his  beneficent 
purpose.  "  There  will  be  no  seeds  this  year," 
he  said,  but  not  sadly.  His  face  took  on  the 
look  it  had  worn  in  his  youth  in  Pittsburg 
when  his  start  on  his  mission  had  been  so 
long  delayed — that  look  which  saw  no  hard 
or  hindering  circumstance,  but  only  the  dis- 
tant and  splendid  goal. 

His  compassion  was  all  for  others  when  he 
looked  upon  Ethan's  fields,  where  seed  had 
rotted  in  the  cold,  wet  ground,  or  had  sprung 
up  in  thin,  pale  growth,  only  to  be  beaten 
upon  by  hail-storms  or  deluges  of  rain. 
Even  if  the  weather  improved  there  could 
now  be  only  the  scantiest  of  crops,  and  peo- 
ple and  animals  must  suffer  many  privations. 

When  skies  are  unkind  the  husbandman 
must  work  all  the  harder  for  what  may  be 
saved,  so  Johnny  was  out,  now,  bringing  a 
wonderful  store  of  practical  wisdom  and 
skill  to  Ethan's  help.  He  guided  the  plow, 
swung  the  scythe,  repaired  tools  and  harness, 
followed  the  sheep  on  the  hills,  led  the  men 
of  the  neighborhood  to  a  grassy  marsh  where 

3°5 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

wild  forage  might  be  cut  to  eke  out  their 
scanty  meadows,  and  brought  in  the  winter's 
supply  of  fuel.  So  he  won  back,  if  not  his 
old,  tireless  strength,  at  least  his  old,  well- 
directed  energy,  and  fitted  himself  to  take 
up  his  inspired  task  again.  But  as  he  said 
nothing  about  this,  Ethan  and  Mary  thought 
that  even  his  mission  was  fading  from  his 
memory.  They  had  a  feeling  of  happy  se- 
curity that  he  would  remain  with  them  in 
contentment.  Capable  as  he  was  of  doing 
his  own  work,  he  showed  an  increasing  un- 
fitness to  take  care  of  himself. 

It  was  in  this  year  of  profound  discourage- 
ment and  ruinous  losses,  when  men  had  to 
sacrifice  stock  they  could  not  feed,  and  go 
into  debt  for  high-priced  seed  brought  up 
from  the  South,  that  Johnny  lost  something 
of  the  natural  man's  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion. His  spirit  of  brotherly  love  pushed 
him  over  the  verge  of  reason  into  those  ec- 
centric and  endearing  forms  of  self-sacrifice 
which  ever  afterward  marked  him.  Because 
it  had  been  necessary  for  men  to  do  so  when 
animals  were  on  short  rations,  he  continued 
to  carry  heavy  loads,  and  to  walk  long  dis- 
tances, to  spare  horses.     He  refused  to  eat, 

306 


UNDYING    LOVE 

even  at  tables  generously  supplied,  until  sure 
that  women  and  children  had  had  enough, 
and  he  gave  his  clothing  to  any  ill-clad  stran- 
ger whom  he  met  on  the  road. 

And,  seeing  how  hard  plants  and  low  animal 
orders  struggled  against  extinction,  his  sym- 
pathy and  reverence  for  all  life  developed 
into  a  poetic  and  fantastic  consideration. 
An  earthworm  drowned  out  of  its  burrow,  a 
bee  made  sluggish  by  cold  rain,  became  a 
piteous  thing.  He  pruned  trees  like  a  sur- 
geon, only  to  heal  some  ill,  insisting  that  they 
could  feel  the  cruel  knife;  and  he  was  sure 
that  seeds  were  moved  by  thought  and  emo- 
tion, as  they  lay  in  pulsing  germination  in 
the  dark. 

Again  there  were  but  ten  days  of  Indian 
summer,  and  winter  set  in  so  early  and  severe 
that,  by  the  middle  of  December,  wagons 
were  driven  across  the  frozen  Ohio.  But 
while  the  weather  was  intensely  cold,  there 
were  few  storms  and  little  snow,  and  the  ice 
went  out  in  February  with  such  destructive 
floods  as  had  never  before  been  recorded. 
All  Western  streams  were  choked  with  wreck- 
age, and  towns  were  cabled  to  trees  on  the 
bluffs.     Then,  as  the  water  subsided,  the  bot- 

307 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

toms  were  spread  with  rich  alluvia,  and  the 
season  leaped  into  genial  spring.  As  if  by 
magic  the  ground  thawed  and  dried  out  for  the 
plowing  in  March.  The  birds,  sadly  dimin- 
ished in  number  but  mad  with  joy,  arrived 
early  and  raised  an  extra  brood  that  golden 
summer,  as  if  aware  that  they  must  restore 
nature's  disturbed  balance. 

In  Johnny's  veins,  too,  the  sap  of  spring 
ascended.  He  brought  in  the  new-born  lambs 
to  the  fire.  He  spaded  the  flower-beds  and 
kitchen  garden.  From  fruit-tree  and  shrub 
he  cut  away  dead  wood  and  parasitic  suckers. 
As  the  sunny,  showery  days  of  April  went 
by  he  had  many  secret  sources  of  happiness 
about  which  those  who  loved  him  could 
only  surmise.  As  though  it  were  some  un- 
folding drama,  he  watched  the  clustered  buds 
of  the  apple-trees  swell  and  swell  until  every 
little  nosegay  showed  the  pink  edges  of  close- 
packed  petals.  He  went  to  sleep  one  night 
on  the  bench  in  excited  expectancy,  and  in 
the  morning  awoke  to  that  miracle  of  spring 
— mounds  and  drifts  and  banks  of  rosy 
bloom,  a  blue  ocean  of  incense,  and  the  har- 
mony of  birds  and  bees. 

Before  he  was  awake  Mary  had  slipped 

308 


UNDYING    LOVE 

out  with  Betty's  little  rocking-chair.  For 
long,  speechless  moments  he  gazed  at  it 
swaying  in  the  breeze,  and  at  the  blossoming 
boughs  shaking  out  their  fluttering  draperies 
of  pink  and  pearl.  His  breakfast  was  placed 
before  him  on  the  rustic  table,  and  gleeful 
children  tumbled  out  into  the  happy  day. 
And  here  was  friendly,  helpful,  cheerful 
Mary-go- 'round  sitting  beside  him  with  a  bit 
of  sewing.  He  startled  her  by  remarking 
that  the  trees  were  so  lovely  because  it  was 
their  wedding-day,  and  told  her  something 
of  the  fertilization  of  the  blossoms  by  the 
bees.  But  when  the  thought  had  dwelt  in 
her  mind  a  moment,  she  said: 

"That  is  beautiful!"  She  blushed  like  any 
bride,  and  sat  for  a  time  in  tender  reverie. 
"Ethan  and  I  were  married  under  the  apple- 
blossoms.  Think  of  being  canopied  with 
bliss  in  such  an  hour!" 

By  and  by  she  asked,  "Johnny,  do  you 
remember  how  you  used  to  take  us  children 
on  a  journey  'round  the  world?" 

Yes,  he  remembered,  with  a  pleasure  as 
great  as  hers.  There  were  little  ones  here 
to-day — no  break  now,  to  him,  in  the  flow 
of  the  generations.   The  hours  went  by  in  the 

309 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

old  manner  of  Betty's  time.  He  got  a  scythe 
and  mowed  the  grass,  and  he  fetched  out  the 
big  table  for  the  picnic  dinner.  Then,  yield- 
ing to  tugging  hands  and  coaxing  voices,  he 
took  the  littlest  baby  on  his  back  and  marched 
away  at  the  head  of  a  procession,  for  such 
brave  and  laughing  adventure  as  would  make 
them  say,  when  they  grew  up,  "  Don't  you 
remember  ? ' '  When  Mary  heard  them  scram- 
bling on  all-fours,  and  squealing  like  bear  cubs 
under  the  shrubbery,  she  cried  for  pure  hap- 
piness. 

Johnny  was  having  his  old  day  in  Paradise 
with  Betty  and  her  little  brood. 

They  were  not  surprised  in  the  morning 
to  find  that  he  was  gone,  but,  more  than  a 
little  anxious,  Ethan  followed  him,  unseen, 
for  two  days.  Mary  ran  down  the  road  to 
meet  him  on  his  return,  and  Ethan  dropped 
from  his  horse  to  walk  with  her. 

"It's  all  right,  Mary.  I  watched  Johnny 
go  into  farm-houses  and  villages  all  bowered 
in  his  orchards.  The  country  never  looked 
more  beautiful.  And  such  welcomes!  Men 
and  women,  children  and  dogs,  ran  across 
fields  and  down  the  lanes  to  meet  him.  He 
will   come  back   when   the   trees   are   done 

310 


UNDYING    LOVE 

blooming,  and  there  will  be  no  harm  in  his 
taking  such  a  holiday  at  any  time.  He  has 
a  friend  in  every  person,  a  home  under  every 
roof  in  Ohio." 

When  the  scented  snow  of  faded  petals  was 
drifting  on  every  wind,  Johnny  reappears  1. 
He  came  in  out  of  the  dewy  dusk,  to  stand 
erect  in  the  doorway,  his  feet  in  bark  sandals, 
his  head  minus  a  covering,  his  silver  hair  and 
beard  a  frame  for  a  face  of  burning  zeal  and 
unquenchable  youth,  to  announce  a  bit  of  news 
which  had  thrilled  his  heart  and  the  heart  of 
all  America  seven  years  before. 

"The  Erie  Canal  has  been  opened!  Thou- 
sands of  people  are  pouring  over  Lake  Erie 
into  the  woods  and  prairies  of  Michigan  and 
Indiana.  Ohio  does  not  need  me  now.  I 
am  going  out  there  to  plant  orchards.' ' 

21 


XIII 


THE   SHINING  GOAL 


fc?v  * 

W9&& 
k^***^^ 

w? 

Sip 

11 

H 

m 

Mm 

^E  talked  for  an  hour,  pouring 
forth  such  a  torrent  of  elo- 
quence that,  when  he  took  his 
blankets  to  the  bench  in  the 
orchard,  he  left  them  thrilled 
and  uplifted. 


1  'It  was  as  though  he  had  been  up  on  a  moun- 
tain, talking  with  God."  Mary's  voice  shook 
and  her  eyes  were  wet.  "But  we  cannot  let 
him  go.  He  would  die  in  some  wretched, 
lonely  way." 

"I  don't  believe  it ;  but  what  if  he  should?" 
Ethan  had  been  carried  off  his  firmly  planted 
Yankee  feet,  as  by  the  sound  of  trumpets 
and  drums.  It  was  the  man's  point  of  view: 
courage  and  faith  were  equipment  for  any 
task;  and  life  was  the  thing — the  vision,  the 
adventure.  The  woman  must  hold  fast  to  the 
good  already  gained. 

312 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

"But,  Ethan,  Johnny  is  growing  old!" 
"He  doesn't  know  it.  He  never  will  know 
it.  Don't  you  dare  tell  him."  The  tone  was 
exultant.  It  had  been  an  unforgctable  ex- 
perience to  see  consecration  rekindle  the  fires 
of  youth. 

"That's  just  it.  He  lives  in  a  dream — " 
"It's  a  brave  dream  that  will  make  him 
work  to  the  last  day  of  his  life  as  if  inspired. 
I  hope  he'll  never  wake  up.  Mary,  what  has 
he  lost,  after  all?  Except  for  a  measure  of 
his  physical  strength,  nothing  that  would  ever 
be  of  any  use  to  him.  And,  like  most  men  of 
his  wiry  build  and  active  mind,  he  has  a  won- 
derful vitality  that  will  stand  him  in  good 
stead.  What  a  world  this  would  be  if  we 
could  all  be  delivered  from  self-distrust  and 
fear — forget  the  things  that  paralyze  effort; 
age  and  failure,  sickness  and  sorrow." 

"That's  a  beautiful  thing  to  see  in  Johnny, 
but  you  know,  Ethan,  that  he  is  incapable  of 
taking  care  of  himself.  If  anything  dreadful 
happened  to  him  it  would  break  the  heart  of 
the  West." 

"  No,  it  would  not.  The  West  would  glory 
in  him.  Johnny  has  in  him  the  stuff  of  heroes 
and  martyrs,  and  such  men  are  not  to  be 

313 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

held  back.  He  loved  your  dear,  sweet  mother, 
and  the  tragedy  of  it  has  finally  turned  his 
brain,  but  that  had  no  power  to  hold  him 
from  the  work  to  which  he  was  called  in  his 
youth.  And  how  are  we  to  hold  him?  Have 
we  the  right?  If  we  meddle  in  this  he  would 
die,  after  a  few,  miserable,  wasted  years. 
We  could  not  bear  that,  Mary.  I  think  we 
must  have  the  courage  to  let  him  go." 

She  suddenly  surrendered.  "I  know.  I 
knew  it  all  the  time  he  was  talking,  but  was 
not  reconciled."  Then  her  eyes,  too,  glowed 
as  if  with  reflection  from  Johnny's  soul  of 
flame.  "Did  you  ever  see  any  one  as  jubi- 
lant? Such  light  is  not  to  be  hidden  under  a 
bushel.  It  is  to  be  set  on  a  hilltop  for  all  the 
world  to  witness!" 

Something  of  Johnny's  own  spirit  sustained 
them  in  the  months  of  waiting  for  the  ripen- 
ing of  seed;  and  any  lingering  doubts  of  the 
wisdom  and  kindness  of  their  resolve  were 
dispelled  as  his  energy  and  happiness  mounted 
with  the  sun.  An  orchardist,  he  knew  su- 
premely how  to  wait,  and  wings  were  given 
to  time  by  his  moral  necessity  of  filling  every 
possible  hour  with  useful  work.  But  even 
if  he  had  not  been  the  busiest  person  on  the 

3U 


THE    SHINING   GOAL 

farm,  he  would  not  have1  been  impatient  to 
be  off.  Not  since  he  Left  Pittsburg  a  genera- 
tion before  had  he  spent  the  dramatic  season 
of  growth  in  one  orchard ;  arid  this  dear  plan- 
tation which  he  had  twice  set  out  for  Betty's 
earthly  paradise  was  haunted,  now,  by  her 
gentle  shade.  Companioned  by  the  beloved 
dead  whom  he  confused  with  the  living, 
every  day  of  time  was  but  a  blissful  moment 
of  eternity. 

Morning  and  evening  and  in  the  noon- 
hour  of  rest  he  watched  the  small,  green 
hips  form  as  the  petals  fell,  and,  through 
genial  weeks  and  months,  expand  to  their 
full  roundness.  As  the  equal  nights  came  on 
with  turbulent  weather,  he  was  often  awak- 
ened by  the  vigorous  threshing  of  the  trees 
and  the  mellow  dropping  of  the  windfalls. 
The  apples  filled  so  with  bursting  juices  that 
their  skins  were  stretched  to  a  satiny  luster, 
as  thin,  fine-grained  and  defensive  as  gold- 
beater's parchment;  and  all  the  moods  of 
summer  and  the  alchemy  of  earth  and  sun 
were  condensed  in  every  little  painted  sphere, 
and  the  very  breath  of  the  Creator  was  hid- 
den in  the  seed. 

And  then,  cider-making  time  on  the  pioneer 

315 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

farm!  The  cattle  were  out  on  the  dwindling 
pastures.  The  corn  stood  in  brown  shocks 
in  the  fields,  with  frost-rimed  pumpkins  lying 
like  harvest  moons  in  the  stubble.  Multi- 
colored leaves  sifted  down  through  the  drowsy 
air  of  Indian  summer.  The  small  press,  a 
rude,  home-made  but  competent  affair,  was 
set  up  in  the  orchard,  where  every  tree,  so 
irregularly  planted,  so  individual  of  growth 
and  habit,  had  a  personality  and  an  intimate 
history  of  its  own. 

The  apples,  not  sorted  as  to  kind,  but  only 
as  to  perfection  and  keeping  quality,  lay  in 
variegated  heaps  of  ruby  and  russet,  green 
and  gold,  on  the  ground.  The  culls  were 
pared,  cored  and  cut  up  for  the  big  kettle  of 
cider-apple  butter  which  was  made  out  of 
doors,  over  the  brick  oven  or  a  gipsy  fire;  or 
they  were  tumbled  pell-mell  into  the  hopper 
of  the  press.  As  the  amber  juice  gushed  out 
it  was  drunk  at  once  from  a  gourd  or  tin  dip- 
per, boiled  and  sealed  in  bottles  for  use  in 
mince  pies,  or  was  turned  into  the  vinegar- 
barrel.  The  choicest  fruit  was  stored  in  bins 
in  cool,  dark,  cellars,  or  was  buried  in  pits 
lined  with  bright  straw.  No  child  needed  a 
light  to  find  his  favorite  variety.     He  could 

316 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

burrow  and  fetch  up  the  most  elusive  by 
the  feel  of  it  in  his  hand,  and  his  nose  would 
confirm  his  judgment.  Now  the  north  wind 
might  blow,  the  robin  fly  south  and  Johnny 
be  out  on  some  bleak  road,  but  there  would 
be  comfort  and  pleasure  of  his  providing  at 
the  winter  fireside. 

The  whole  family  helped  him  wash  the 
seeds  out  of  the  pomace  and  dry  them  on  the 
chimney-shelf.  From  the  wagon-gate  they 
watched  and  waved  to  him  until,  with  the 
long  stride  which  carried  him  so  rapidly  over 
great  distances,  he  disappeared  around  a  bend 
of  the  road.  The  hearts  of  Ethan  and  Mary 
went  with  Johnny  along  every  mile  of  that 
brave  journey,  whose  limit  was  the  length 
of  days  allotted  to  him  and  the  goal  an  or- 
chard on  the  utmost  horizon. 

Their  forethought  went  with  him,  too. 
Mary  had  spent  time  and  reflection  on  a 
letter  to  Dr.  Hildreth.  It  was  the  right  of 
the  people  of  the  West,  who  loved  him,  to 
know  how  it  was  with  Johnny.  As  capable 
as  he  had  ever  been  of  doing  his  beautiful 
work,  his  own  safety  and  comfort  must  now 
be  a  charge  on  those  he  had  served  so  long 
and  so  unselfishly.    People  were  prepared  for 

317 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

his  changed  appearance,  his  lapse  of  memory, 
his  extravagant  mysticism,  and  the  exagger- 
ated sympathies  which  impelled  him  to  strip 
himself  of  the  necessaries  of  life.  They  were 
asked  not  to  recall  to  him  the  sad  things 
which  he  had  forgotten,  to  indulge  his  con- 
soling beliefs,  attend  to  his  physical  needs, 
and  have  the  courage  and  faith  to  let  him  go 

on. 

In  Marietta  the  letter  passed  from  hand  to 
hand.  Men  talked  about  it  in  thoughtful 
groups  on  the  street,  and  women  parted  with 
misty  eyes  at  garden  gates.  Copies  of  it 
were  made,  and  sent  on  to  other  towns. 
Copied  again  and  again,  Mary's  letter  went 
'round  from  Pittsburg  to  the  prairies,  re- 
minding every  one  who  had  an  orchard,  and 
every  one  for  whom  he  lived  only  to  replant 
the  orchard  that  had  been  destroyed,  of  the 
debt  of  love  and  gratitude  that  was  owed  to 
Johnny.  There  was  no  waterway  or  post- 
road  or  wild  trail  in  the  region  which  did 
not  ring  with  his  name;  no  child  who  did 
not  listen  wide-eyed  to  his  brave  and  tender 
story;  no  family  shrine  from  which  a  prayer 
did  not  go  up  that  his  days  might  be  long 
in  the  land  and  his  pathway  lined  with  his 

318 


THE   SHINING    GOAI 

own  blossoming  trees.  In  thinking  of  him  the 
social  and  religious  conscience  was  awakened, 
and  other  men  and  women  were  stirred  to 
neglected  civic  and  neighborly  duties.  Thus, 
while  still  living,  Johnny  became  a  poignant 
and  admonishing  memory. 

And  if  it  had  been  a  startling  thing  to  the 
people  of  a  generation  before  to  see  the  gentle, 
zealous  and  undefended  youth,  it  was  now  an 
arresting  and  uplifting  experience  to  have  this 
fervid  and  unconsciously  aging  man  come  in, 
erect  under  his  beneficent  burden,  clad  in 
any  insufficient  and  nondescript  way,  his 
white  hair  streaming  in  the  winter  wind.  It 
was  as  though  the  bitter  frosts  which  had 
laid  the  blight  of  discouragement  on  so  many 
had  touched  Johnny  grievously,  too,  but  only 
to  strengthen  his  purpose  and  sweeten  his 
spirit.  A  sermon  and  a  song,  he  journeyed 
down  the  Scioto  and  Hocking  valleys,  and 
up  the  Muskingum.  The  grateful  affection 
and  respect  in  which  he  had  always  been  held 
deepened  to  the  reverent  love  which  has  been, 
everywhere  and  in  every  age  of  the  world,  ac- 
corded to  moral  superiority. 

His  was  the  honored  place  at  board  and 
fireside  where,  by  many  innocent  deceptions, 

3J9 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

he  was  persuaded  to  accept  the  best.  And, 
although  few  people  had  much  surplus  cloth- 
ing, warm  garments  were  always  found  for 
Johnny.  He  progressed  rapidly  and  gleaned 
a  great  store  of  seeds,  for  now  children  helped 
him  wash  them  out  of  the  pomace;  hero- 
worshiping  farm  and  village  boys  tramped 
with  him  on  every  highway,  assisting  him 
over  many  a  delaying  difficulty,  and  when 
his  leather  bag  grew  heavy,  men  discovered 
that  they  had  errands  his  way  and  gave  him 
lifts  in  wagons.  In  not  a  few  instances  towns 
and  churches  took  up  collections  and  bought 
horses  and  new  clothing  for  him.  Such  wealth, 
however,  he  held  only  in  trust  for  the  next 
needy  stranger  he  encountered.  So,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  people  learned  to  sup- 
ply his  immediate  necessities  with  anything 
of  small  value  that  was  serviceable.  And  in 
Ohio,  at  least,  where  his  errand  kept  him  on 
main-traveled  roads  in  the  oldest  and  most 
thickly  settled  districts,  he  never  suffered 
privation  for  a  longer  time  than  it  took  him 
to  make  the  next  house. 

One  day  early  in  March  he  reappeared  at 
the  old  home,  "to  spend  the  day  with  Betty." 
A   neighboring  farmer,   returning   from  the 

320 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

nearest  village  in  a  wagon,  had  picked  him 
up  on  the  road,  along  which  he  was  stagger- 
ing under  the  weight  of  two  big  bags  of  seeds. 
From  a  last  year's  scarecrow,  fallen  in  a  corn- 
field, he  had  taken  a  crownless  hat  and  a  gun- 
nysack  coat.  The  winter  of  toil  and  travel 
had  stripped  his  spare  figure  of  every  ounce 
of  surplus  flesh,  and  from  his  thin-featured, 
ascetic  face  his  large  dark  eyes  shone,  brilliant 
and  eager,  from  the  urgency  within. 

"Johnny  dear,  you  are  half  frozen!"  Mary 
cried.  Quick  tears  filled  her  eyes.  She  never 
could  get  used  to  seeing  him  come  in  like  this. 
She  did  not  rest  now  until  he  was  warmed 
and  fed,  and  clothed  decently  in  one  of  Ethan's 
good  suits.  He  had  trifling  gifts  for  the  chil- 
dren— marbles  for  the  boys  and  bright  hair- 
ribbons  for  the  little  girls.  It  was  in  this  way, 
and  for  religious  books  to  distribute  among  the 
elders  in  scantily  supplied  cabins  on  the 
prairies,  that  he  spent  the  small  sums  of 
money  which  many  people  slipped  into  his 
pockets. 

After  supper,  when  the  children  were  in 
bed,  Johnny  and  Mary  and  Ethan  and  the 
little  empty  rocking-chair  gathered  around 
the  open  fire  in  the  old  grouping.     While 

321 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

Mary  knitted  and  Ethan  shelled  seed-corn 
Johnny  read  aloud  from  the  New  Testament 
and  from  the  copy  of  Swedenborg  which  he 
always  carried  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt.  At 
the  end  of  every  day,  whether  alone  or  in 
company,  he  had  this  sweet  hour  of  com- 
munion and  prayer.  Wholly  preoccupied, 
then,  with  the  other  world,  he  seemed  to 
lose  touch  with  earthly  persons  and  things. 
To  any  audience,  and  with  an  astonishing 
poetic  imagery  drawn  from  his  intimate  knowl- 
edge and  love  of  the  most  elusive  things  of 
nature,  he  described  his  visions  and  reported 
his  talks  with  angels. 

These  fantastic  accounts  were  listened  to 
everywhere  with  pleasure,  respect  and  even 
credulity.  Johnny  had  a  personal  charm  that 
was  felt  by  every  one,  and  a  voice  of  beauty 
and  persuasion,  and  when  he  spoke  of  his 
faith  or  his  mission,  which  was  faith  trans- 
mitted into  work,  his  speech  was  so  inspired, 
his  countenance  so  lighted  with  the  fires  of 
fanaticism,  that  people  quite  lost  their  sober 
judgment. 

Mary  and  Ethan  were  carried  away  now 
when  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  swept  his  halo  of 
silver  hair  back  from  his  face,  and,  like  any 

322 


Ill  E    SHINING   GOAL 

prophet  of  old,  delivered  his  burning  message. 
He  was  going  into  the  wilderness,  with  no 

thought  for  the  morrow,  to  take  eomfort  and 
beauty  to  brave  men,  wistful  women  and 
defrauded  children.    Angels  would  watch  over 


SWEPT  HIS   HALO  OF  SILVER  HAIR  BACK  FROM  HIS  FACE,    AND, 
LIKE  ANY  PROPHET  OF  OLD,  DELIVERED  HIS  BURNING  MESSAGE 

him,  ravens  feed  him,  manna  fall  from  the 
skies.  All  the  days  of  his  life  he  would  walk 
in  safety,  blessedness  and  peace  until  his 
task  was  done. 

Their  hearts  sank.     In  the  moment  of  re- 
action they  looked  at  each  other  in  sick  dis- 

323 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

may.  Was  this  dear  visionary,  who  was 
"not  all  here  "  because  a  good  part  of  him  was 
already  in  heaven,  to  be  let  go,  perhaps  to 
wander  about  aimlessly  in  perilous  wilds? 
But  almost  at  once  they  were  reassured. 
The  part  of  him  that  was  on  earth  was  all 
practical,  informed,  efficient.  During  the  win- 
ter he  had  read  the  newspapers  and  talked 
with  leading  men.  He  had  overlooked  no 
detail  by  which  he  could  give  the  greatest 
service  to  the  greatest  number  in  his  new 
field,  and  with  the  least  danger  of  his  plant- 
ing being  brought  to  an  untimely  end. 

Taking  a  bit  of  charred  wood  from  the 
hearth,  he  sketched  a  rough  map  of  the  old 
Northwest  Territory  on  Mary's  white-pine 
table.  Then,  with  three  swift  strokes,  he 
marked  the  northwestward  trend  of  migra- 
tion, above  the  navigable  streams  of  the  Ohio 
River  Valley — the  National  Road  which  was 
being  pushed  through  the  centrally  loca.ted 
capitals  of  the  three  Southern  states  to  the 
Mississippi;  the  post-road  soon  to  be  opened 
between  Detroit  and  Chicago;  and  the  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  canals  that  were  projected 
along  the  Maumee,  Miami  and  Wabash,  to 
connect  Lake  Erie  with  the  Ohio  River. 

324 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

"  Thousands  of  people  are  breaking  those 
iron  trails  to  the  West  and  settling  near  them, 
and  those  are  the  routes  I  must  follow.  In 
another  dozen  years  there  will  be  tens  of 
thousands.  Then  there  will  be  towns  and 
nurserymen.  But  in  that  time  a  generation 
of  children  could  grow  up  without  the  mem- 
ories of  orchards." 

A  dozen  years!  He  was  fifty-eight,  and 
in  the  hard,  half-century  of  pioneering  in  the 
Middle  West  many  were  old  at  forty-five. 

When  he  had  gone  to  his  comfortable  bed 
in  the  loft  chamber,  Ethan  could  not  contain 
his  pride  in  him.  "He'll  do  it,  Mary.  Johnny 
knows  what  he  is  about.  He'll  live  long 
and  finish  that  task.  You  might  as  well  try 
to  stop  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Mary  had  knelt  and  repeated  the  prayer 
she  had  learned  at  her  mother's  knee  before 
she  answered.  "Whether  his  life  be  long  or 
short,  he  will  live  the  Beatitudes  and  see 
God  every  hour." 

When  Johnny  rose  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  Ethan  brought  a  horse  to  the  door 
for  him — a  big,  strong  animal  that  could 
carry  him  and  his  belongings  with  ease.  He 
disposed  his  seeds,   and  the  new  tools  and 

325 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

small  camping  outfit  provided  for  him,  on 
the  horse,  and  spared  a  moment  to  give  him 
the  pleasure  of  nosing  in  a  pocket  for  an 
apple.  But  when  Ethan  urged  him  to  mount 
he  shook  his  head.  That  was  a  heavy  enough 
load  for  any  horse.  Not  until  there  were 
orchards  in  his  new  field  of  labors  would  he 
look  upon  blossoming  or  fruiting  trees  again; 
nor  could  he  stop  every  spring  for  a  day  with 
Betty.  He  often  saw  her,  now,  in  some  fa- 
miliar or  angelic  guise,  but  it  was  only  here 
that  he  fully  recovered  her. 

"Is  Betty  asleep?" 

"Yes,  Johnny,  she's  asleep,"  Mary  man- 
aged to  answer,  with  a  tender  smile. 

"Don't  waken  her." 

He  led  the  horse  up  to  the  road.  They 
knew  he  would  walk  all  that  weary  way,  and 
that  he  was  not  likely  to  have  this  good 
horse  for  his  baggage  for  any  length  of  time. 
He  would  gradually  strip  himself  of  every 
comfort  and  advantage.  So  he  would  go  to 
the  end  of  his  earthly  journey,  keeping  only 
the  essential  things — his  seeds,  his  tools,  his 
love  for  Betty  and  his  purpose. 

At  Sandusky  he  left  the  horse  behind  for 
an  emigrant  family  stranded  by  the  loss  of  an 

326 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

animal  on  the  road,  and  crossed  the  cold  lake 
to  Detroit  on  the  windy  deck  of  a  freight- 
boat.  He  had  no  recollection  of  having  been 
there  since  the  war  of  twenty  years  before, 
when  the  place  was  a  lethargic,  wilderness 
fortress  and  Indian  trading-post.  These  hur- 
rying crowds  enchanted  him — so  many  peo- 
ple for  him  to  serve!  Dragging  his  roped 
baggage  across  the  gang-plank,  he  mounted 
the  steps  which  led  up  from  the  dock. 

Without  help  it  would  be  difficult  to  go 
on.  But  help  came  to  Johnny,  now,  when  it 
was  needed,  and  his  relations  with  men  were 
on  the  simple  religious  basis  of  the  duty  and 
joy  of  giving  and  receiving.  With  entire 
confidence  he  stood  still  and  looked  out  over 
bobbing  hats,  piles  of  goods  and  a  confusion 
of  tangled  trucks  and  teams,  until  he  caught 
the  serene  and  kindly  eye  of  a  French  Recollet 
friar.  The  Franciscan  missionary  was  evi- 
dently just  starting  on  a  journey,  for  he  rode 
one  pony  and  led  another.  Making  his  way 
through  the  press,  he  dismounted.  It  was  a 
friend,  whose  face  and  name  and  habit  of 
life  were  erased  from  his  memory,  who  laid  a 
fraternal  hand  on  Johnny's  shoulder. 

"We   go   the   same   way,    man  frire,    and 
22  327 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

upon  much  the  same  errand.  So  put  your 
belongings  on  my  extra  animal  and  we  will 
walk  in  company."  Thinking  it  well  that, 
in  the  midst  of  their  temporal  concerns,  men 
should  be  reminded  of  their  blessings,  he 
raised  his  hand  and  voice.  ' '  Let  us  give  thanks 
to  Our  Lady  that  Johnny  Appleseed  moon 
has  risen  on  the  woods  and  prairies." 

A  cheer  went  up  from  those  within  hearing 
and  hats  were  thrown  in  the  air.  Johnny  did 
not  know  that  the  hope  of  orchards  had  been 
cruelly  dashed  from  the  lips  of  the  people  of 
this  region  once,  nor  that  the  promise  of  his  re- 
turn had  been  glad  tidings  to  settlers  and  an 
inducement  to  new-comers.  The  extravagant 
welcomes  and  consideration  which  greeted 
him  seemed  only  the  natural  response  to  his 
own  love  and  elation.  Now  his  way  to  join 
the  procession  which  was  moving  across  the 
marshy  ground  to  the  West,  was  lined  with 
cheers,  hand-clasps,  uncovered  heads,  lifted 
babies  and  faces  which,  at  the  sight  of  his 
white  hair  and  eyes  of  consecrated  and  ardent 
youth,  paid  the  silent  tributes  of  hearts  made 
suddenly  humble.  A  hush  fell  upon  the 
crowd  for  a  moment  as  that  passionate  pil- 
grim disappeared  in  the  forest. 

328 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

There  were  more  people  in  the  country 
than  he  had  expected  to  find,  and  more  corn 
and  cattle.  In  many  districts  game  practi- 
cally disappeared  after  the  winter  of  the  d< 
snow,  and  in  the  hard  years  which  followed 
farming  was  pursued  with  desperate  energy. 
But,  except  on  the  road  westward  from  De- 
troit, where  the  horn  of  the  stage-coach  to 
Chicago  presently  woke  the  echoes  of  the 
woods,  it  was  another  decade  before  traveling 
became  safer  or  easier.  Until  the  National 
Road  and  canals  were  opened,  little  could  be 
brought  into  the  country  or  sent  out;  and 
until  near  the  middle  of  the  century  people 
who  had  settled  at  any  distance  from  navi- 
gable water  continued  to  live  in  the  most 
primitive  way. 

In  later  years,  and  by  chroniclers  who  suf- 
fered none  of  the  hardships  of  the  first  gener- 
ation in  that  region,  much  was  made  of 
Johnny's  bare  or  bark-sandaled  feet  and  his 
scant  and  nondescript  garments.  But  very 
few  people  wore  shoes  in  the  summer  months, 
and  most  were  reduced  to  odd  makeshifts 
in  the  way  of  clothing.  What  they  had  they 
shared  with  Johnny.  And  while  he  always 
gave  away  the  best  that  was  given  to  him, 

329 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

his  condition  was  not  piteous  and  all  his  ec- 
centricities were  endearing.  The  hemp -bag 
shirt  and  pasteboard  hat  in  which  he  ap- 
peared at  times,  were  robe  and  crown  for  a 
new  St.  John  of  the  wilderness. 

As  far  as  was  possible  he  was  watched  and 
guarded,  for  in  the  care  of  himself  Johnny 
was  "plumb  foolish."  Sublimely  delivered 
from  fear,  he  waded  bare-legged  across  any 
snake-infested  swamp  which  lay  in  his  path; 
and,  filled  with  reverence  and  compassion 
for  all  life,  he  refused  to  build  a  camp-fire 
where  ants  had  their  underground  villages 
or  moths  were  flying.  He  had  been  known 
to  feed  a  sick  wolf  which  followed  him  like 
a  dog,  and  to  put  out  a  fire  he  had  made 
against  a  hollow  log  in  which  he  discovered 
a  hibernating  bear,  and  to  sleep  near  by  in 
the  dark. 

But  no  harm  ever  befell  him,  a  thing  to 
be  accounted  for  only  by  his  own  belief  that 
he  was  under  Divine  protection.  His  en- 
durance, too,  was  nothing  less  than  a  miracle. 
Year  after  year,  while  he  withered  and 
wrinkled  like  any  winter  apple  losing  its 
juices  by  slow  evaporation,  but  sound  and 
sweet  to  the  last,  he  covered  hundreds  of 

330 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

miles  of  country,  and  was  never  known  to 
be  ill.  When  the  earth  stiffened  with  frost 
he  went  out  to  his  gleaning  of  seeds  through 
Toledo,  and  he  returned  to  his  plan  ting  through 
Detroit,  Fort  Wayne  or  the  Quaker  settle- 
ments of  eastern  Indiana  before  ever  a  prairie 
furrow  was  turned  up  to  the  sun.  In  his  an- 
nual rounds  one  of  his  sources  of  happiness  was 
to  note  how  the  children,  colts  and  calves,  and 
his  own  little  trees,  playing  in  wind  and  sun, 
grew  tall  and  strong  to  take  up  the  sober 
duties  and  higher  joys  of  life. 

Before  the  first  of  Johnny's  trees  in  that 
region  were  in  bearing,  beard  had  started 
through  the  tanned  cheek  of  "Billy"  grown  to 
young  William  Wrorth.  When  he  had  fenced 
in  a  quarter-section  of  prairie  on  the  river- 
bank  north  of  Fort  Wayne,  broken  the  sod 
for  corn  and  built  a  little  white  cot,  he  asked 
Johnny  to  plant  an  orchard  for  Madeleine 
Bourie.  The  house  was  of  the  style  that  was 
dear  to  the  French  trader  from  the  province 
of  Quebec.  Long  and  low,  its  roof,  which 
sloped  out  over  a  narrow  front  veranda,  was 
set  with  tiny  dormer  windows.  When  its 
clapboards  were  whitewashed,  honeysuckles 
and  Prairie  Queen  roses  trained  up  the  porch 

33i 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

posts,  and  Lombardy  poplars  planted  to  flank 
the  picket-gate,  it  was  a  pleasant  home   in- 
deed to   come  upon  at   the  end  of  a  day's 
journey.    Johnny  always  slept  there  one  night 
when  he  passed  through  the  town.     And  for 
Madeleine,   who   had   the  brown   hair,   blue 
eyes  and  engaging  manners  of  her  Norman 
race,  he  laid  out  a  garden  and  orchard  pat- 
terned after  the  old  home  of  his  heart  in  Ohio. 
Suddenly,  in  a  thousand  scattered  places, 
Johnny's  earliest  trees  bloomed  and  fruited. 
The  wilderness  fell  back,  abashed.     Birds  and 
bees  came  in  from  the  woods.     Cabins  which 
had  been  but  rude  and  unloved  shelters   in 
bitter  lands  of   exile,  were  transformed  into 
homes  overnight,  and  people  took  root  in  wild 
soil  tamed  by  these  domestic  trees.    His  or- 
chards  bore   other    crops    besides   apples  — 
beauty,  contentment,  the  hope  of  better  days, 
the   social  gathering,  memories.     Year  after 
year  his  trees  increased  in   number   and  in 
value,  for  grafting-buds  were  taken  from  old 
orchards  in  Detroit,  Piqua  and  Dayton,  and 
gradually  carried  westward.    When  the  new 
trade  routes  were  opened  Johnny  had  nur- 
series in  market-towns  to  turn  over  to  other 
men.    The  dozen  years  were  more  than  gone, 

332 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

and  he  had  finished  tin's  task.     But  there  were 
other  fields  for  his  planting—  farther  horizons. 

He  was  seventy-two  years  old  when,  in  the 

spring  of  1847,  his  eager  feet  took  the  path  of 
blossoms  up  the  Valley  of  the  Maumee  toward 
the  new  goal.  Early  in  March  he  stopped 
at  the  old  home  for  his  day  with  Betty,  so 
buoyant,  so  full  of  happy  plans  for  his  new 
undertaking  in  the  northwestern  corner  of 
Indiana,  that,  although  he  was  looking  very 
old  and  feeble,  Mary  and  Ethan  gave  up 
their  intention  of  trying  to  persuade  him  to 
remain  with  them  and  end  his  days  in  com- 
fort. His  comfort,  his  spiritual  necessity,  was 
in  his  continuing  task.  For  him  time  was 
merged  in  eternity.  When  his  work  on  earth 
was  done  there  would  be  orchards  for  his 
planting  and  nurturing  in  the  Garden  of  God. 
In  going  up  through  the  Black  Swamp, 
in  a  soft  and  foggy  thaw,  he  had  a  mild  at- 
tack of  malaria.  He  managed  to  reach  Toledo, 
but  only  to  lie  in  bed  there  for  a  month.  Be- 
wildered by  the  prostration  which  had  so 
slight  a  cause,  and  by  the  trembling  weakness 
and  shortness  of  breath  that  paralyzed  effort 
when  he  was  up  again,  he  crept  out  into  the 

333 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

warm  sunshine  of  a  late  April  day,  to  look 
upon  trees  that  were  on  the  point  of  bursting 
into  bloom. 

The  planting  season  would  be  over  before 
he  could  reach  his  new  field,  and  friends 
pleaded  with  him  to  remain  where  he  was 
for  the  summer  to  recover  his  strength.  He 
did  consent  to  send  his  seeds  and  tools  to 
Fort  Wayne  by  canal-boat,  but,  for  himself, 
he  meant  to  walk.  A  leisurely  tramp  up  that 
happy  valley  in  apple-blossom-time  would  be 
a  holiday,  and  it  would  set  him  on  his  feet 
again  for  his  summer  of  exploration. 

What  a  transformation  had  been  wrought 
in  this  valley  by  the  courage  and  faith  and 
killing  labor  of  two  generations  of  men!  It 
thrilled  Johnny's  heart  to  think  of  the  share 
he  had  had  in  that  brave  work.  Even  a  dec- 
ade before  this  hundred-mile  depression  had 
been  all  but  impassable  in  the  spring;  and 
a  flatboat  voyage  down  the  dark-walled, 
sluggish  flood  in  the  autumn,  when  he  had 
put  in  his  seeds,  had  been  a  dismal  experience. 
Now,  Toledo  had  pulled  itself  up  out  of  the 
mud,  and,  a  garden-girt  city  of  four  thousand 
people,  stood  on  its  green  peninsula,  between 
the  shipping  on  the  bay  and  the  barges  on 

334 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

the  canal,  taking  its  rich  toll  of  travel  and 
trade.  There  were  still  stretches  of  swampy 
woods  that  came  right  down  to  the  towpath, 

but  for  the  most  part  the  low  plain  lay  open 
to  the  view.  From  high  banks  along  the 
rapids  a  wayfarer  could  look  down  upon 
miles  of  foaming  waters,  and  running  back 
from  every  busy  little  bowered  town,  the 
prairies  stretched  from  swell  to  swell,  be- 
tween belts  of  woodland,  with  corn-fields, 
meadows  and  comfortable  homes  hidden  in 
bloom. 

Going  up  that  valley  was  like  a  vision  of 
the  road  to  heaven  and  wThat  lay  at  the  end 
of  it,  which  had  once  enchanted  him.  Along 
the  bank  of  a  full-flowing  river  he  had  fol- 
lowed a  path  of  blossoms,  until  he  had  come 
to  gleaming  gates  of  morning  opening  on 
limitless  fields  of  spring,  with  mounds  and 
banks  of  bloom  on  every  horizon.  And  in  a 
secluded  paradise  of  ordered  loveliness  he  had 
found  Betty,  restored  to  her  youthful  beauty, 
and  weaving  garlands  for  the  shining  heads  of 
the  little  children  gathered  around  her. 

Every  hour  he  was  obliged  to  rest.  Kind 
people,  he  noticed,  were  very  apt  to  join  him 
and  to  keep  him  company  for  a  stage  of  the 

335 


JOHNNY    APPLESEED 

journey.  If  alone,  he  gathered  the  harvest 
of  the  poetic  eye  and  ear.  He  ate  in  any 
doorway,  slept  wherever  he  happened  to  be 
at  nightfall — for  every  roof  was  a  home  for 
him;  but  he  was  off  again  before  any  one 
else  was  stirring.  Little  ones  sent  to  call  him 
to  breakfast  ran  back,  disappointed. 

"Oh,  mother,  Johnny's  gone!" 

The  older  people  looked  at  each  other 
across  cheerful  tables  sadly.  Many  who 
watched  Johnny  moving  slowly  up  the  valley, 
as  if  in  a  happy  dream,  did  not  expect  ever 
to  see  him  again;  and  they  waited  anxiously 
to  hear  that  he  had  reached  Fort  Wayne. 

It  was  near  sunset  one  evening,  when  the 
blossoms  were  white  with  age,  that  Made- 
leine Worth,  busy  in  her  kitchen,  heard  the 
picket-gate  click  on  the  latch.  She  ran  down 
the  path  to  meet  Johnny.  Although  weary 
and  faint  that  he  tottered  to  a  fall,  his  eyes 
still  had  that  undying  look  of  his  far-away 
youth,  as  of  one  who  sees  only  the  distant 
and  splendid  goal. 

"Did  my  seeds  come?" 

"A  week  ago.  You  should  have  come  with 
them.  We  have  been  afraid —  Dear  friend, 
you  have  been  ill!" 

336 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 


"It  was  nothing — not  worth  mentioning. 
I  will  be  better  soon." 

Under  cover  of  clasping  her  firm  young 
hands  about  his  arm  as  fondly  as  any  grand- 


j>j»  •••:'"  .••'•    ■',•'■''      •  • 


;? 


'  H 


HIS  EYES  STILL  HAD  THAT  UNDYING  LOOK  OF  HIS  FAR-AWAY 
YOUTH,  AS  OF  ONE  WHO  SEES  ONLY  THE  DISTANT  AND 
SPLENDID    GOAL 

daughter,  Madeleine  helped  him  up  the  steps. 
He  sank  breathlessly  into  the  armed  chair  of 
hickory  splints.     In  a  moment  she  brought 

337 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

out  a  bowl  of  hot  milk,  and  said  that  he  should 
have  fresh  eggs  and  wheat-bread  toast  and 
apple-blossom  honey  for  his  supper,  because 
he  was  "company."  Tucking  bright  calico 
cushions  around  him,  she  left  him  and,  with 
misty  eyes,  returned  to  her  work  of  preparing 
the  evening  meal. 

He  sat  there  blissfully,  watching  the  loos- 
ened petals  blow  before  the  wind,  and  lis- 
tening to  the  vesper  songs  of  the  birds  and 
the  laughing  chatter  of  the  very  young  chil- 
dren who  had  a  bark  playhouse  in  the  or- 
chard. He  was  never  alone  now.  Old  friends 
returned,  thronging  the  sacred  room  of  mem- 
ory, as  he  looked  out  between  the  sentinel 
poplars,  across  the  green  and  flowery  prairie 
to  the  setting  sun.  He  was  asleep  when 
William  came  in  from  the  fields. 

The  boy  who  had  said,  "You  lean  on  me, 
Johnny;  I'm  strong,"  was  now  a  man  to 
lean  upon.  A  stalwart  pioneer  of  the  second 
generation,  in  his  youthful  prime,  he  looked 
down  upon  Johnny,  sunk  among  the  cushions 
— wasted  to  emaciation,  bleached  to  trans- 
parency, worn  out  by  his  half- century-long 
labor  of  love!  William  could  not  eat  his 
supper  for  the  lump  in  his  throat.    He  made 

338 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

up  his  mind  that  Johnny's  wanderings  should 
come  to  an  end.  He  would  be  unable  to  travel 
at  all  for  some  days,  and  he  and  his  clever 
Madeleine  must  find  a  way  to  keep  him  al- 
together. 

Rested  and  refreshed,  Johnny's  soul  of 
flame  burned  with  its  old  heat  and  brightness 
for  an  hour.  People  were  going  into  north- 
western Indiana,  settling  on  the  sand-dunes 
and  in  the  oak-openings  of  the  old  lands  of 
the  Pottawatomies ;  around  the  shores  of  the 
many  lovely  lakes  that  dotted  the  northern 
prairies,  and  on  the  rich  plains  which  bor- 
dered the  southern  margin  of  that  million- 
acre  mystery,  the  swamps  of  the  Kankakee. 
Most  of  them  would  be  sixty  miles  from  any 
outlet.  He  might  go  on  to  the  vast  prairies 
of  eastern  Illinois.     In  another  dozen  years — 

He  wanted  to  take  a  blanket  to  the  orchard, 
but  clouds  had  spread  across  the  sky  and  the 
soft  wind  felt  like  rain,  so  he  was  persuaded 
to  sleep  on  a  pallet  on  the  porch  floor.  Once 
in  the  night  William  came  out  with  an  extra 
covering,  and  found  him  asleep. 

Before  daylight  he  awoke  suddenly.  In 
his  dream  he  had  heard  the  old  boat-bugle 
of  early  days  on  the   Ohio  River — distant, 

339 


JOHNNY   APPLESEED 

ineffable,  such  as  had  seemed  to  call  the  soul 
of  Mary  Lake  to  life  everlasting.  It  was  not 
yet  morning,  but  the  rain  had  ceased.  He 
could  have  an  hour  in  the  orchard  before 
starting  on  the  journey  to  his  new  field  of 
labor.  When  his  heart  had  quieted  down 
from  its  wild  beating  he  took  up  his  seeds 
and  tools  and  went  down  the  steps  into  the 
odorous  darkness. 

He  may  have  slept,  to  dream  again,  for  he 
thought  himself  in  another,  dearer  orchard. 
Some  happy  memory  made  him  smile  when 
the  breeze  shook  down  a  shower  of  drops  and 
of  cool,  scented  petals  on  his  upturned  face. 
At  the  back  of  the  house  the  meadow  sloped 
to  the  grassy  bank  of  the  river.  He  could 
see  the  stream  which  still  lay  dark,  and  the 
rosy  drift  of  dawn  which  bloomed  above  it. 

The  first  rays  of  morning  light  were  re- 
flected from  the  fluttering  leaves  of  the  wet 
poplars.  The  prairie  was  spread  out,  gray, 
then  silver,  with  beaded  rain.  There  was  a 
twittering  in  the  tree-tops.  A  meadow-lark 
fluted  from  the  pasture.  Madeleine,  coming 
out  to  call  Johnny  to  breakfast,  saw  his 
empty  bed,  with  startled  blue  eyes  that  filled 
with  tears. 

340 


THE    SHINING    GOAL 

"Oh,  Billy,  he's  gone!" 

But  no  trail  was  broken  across  the  drenched 
grass  of  the  prairie,  where  the  rising  sun 
awoke  a  sea  of  sparkles. 

Johnny  was  gone,  to  an  eternal  day  with 
Betty,  and  to  plant  orchards  in  the  Garden 
of  God. 


^sf^> 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

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THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

Colored  frontispiece  by  W.  li  tanton. 

M  st  of  the   action  <>f  this  story  I  ve  near  the  turbulent 

Mexican  border  of  the  pn  A  New  York 

a  ranch  which  becomes  the  center  of  fr- 

cowboys  defend  her  property  from  bandits,  and  her  superinten  . 
rescues  her  when  she  is  captured  by  them.  A  surprising  cui 
brings  the  story  to  a  delightful  close. 

DESERT  GOLD 
Illustrated  by  Douglas  Duer. 

Another  fascinating  story  of  the  Mexican  border.    Two  men, 
lost  in  the  desert,  discover  gold  when,  overcome  by  weakne 
can  go  no  farther.  The  rest  of  the  story  describes  the  recent  uprising 
along  the  border,  and  ends  with  the  finding  of  the  gold  which  the 
two  prospectors  had  willed  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story's  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

Illustrated  by  Douglas  Duer. 

A  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  ••• 
Mormon  authority  ruled.    In  the  persecution  of  Jane*  Witherste' 
rich  ranch  owner,'  we  are  permitted  to  see  the  methods  employed  by 
the  invisible  hand  of  the  Mormon  Church  to  break  her  will. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

Illustrated  with  photograph  reproductions. 

This  is  the  record  of  a  trip  which  the  author  took  with  Buffalo 
Jones,  known  as  the  preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the 
Arizona  desert  and  of  a  hunt  in  "that  wonderful  count  Dow 

crags,  deep   canons   and  giant   pines."     It  is  a  fascinating  Stc  I 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

Jacket  in  color.     Frontispiece. 

This   big  human   drama   is  played  in  the  Painted  Deser- 

lovely  girl,  who  has  been   reared  among  Mormons,  learns  to  lo 

young  New  Englander.     The  Mormon  religion,  however,  dem.. 

that  the  girl  shall  become  the  second  wife  of  one  of  the  Mormons- 
Well,  that's  the  problem  of  this  sensational,  big  selling  story. 

BETTY  ZANE 

Illustrated  by  Louis  F.  Grant. 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beauti- 
ful young   sister  of  old  Colonel  Zane,  one  of  the  brav 
Life  along  the  frontier,  attacks  by  Indians,  Betty's  heroic 
of  the  beleaguered  garrison  at  Wheeling,  the  burning  of  the  > 
and  Betty's  final  race  for  life, make  up  this  never-to-1  >■ 

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THE    NOVELS    OF 

CLARA    LOUISE     BURNHAM 

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JEWEL:  A  Chapter  in  Her  Life. 
Illustrated  by  Maude  and  Genevieve  Covrles. 

A  sweet,  dainty  story,  breathing  the  doctrine  of  love  and  patienry 
and  sweet  nature  and  cheerfulness. 

JEWEL'S   STORY  BOOK. 

Illustrated  by  Albert  Schmitt. 

A  sequel  to  "Jewel"  and  equally  enjoyable. 

CLEVER  BETSY. 

Illustrated  by  Rose  O'Neill. 

The  "Clever  Betsy"  was  a  boat— named  for  the  unyielding  spin- 
ster whom  the  captain  hoped  to  marry.  Through  the  two  Betsys  a 
clever  group  of  people  are  introduced  to  the  reader. 

SWEET  CLOVER:    A  Romance  of  the  White  City. 

A  story  of  Chicago  at  the  time  of  the  World's  Fair.  A  sweet  hu 
man  story  that  touches  the  heart. 

THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS. 

Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  background 
fo*  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with  life,  is  brought 
to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may  open  the  shutters  of  her 
soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by  casting  aside  vanity  and  self 
love.  A  delicately  humorous  work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 

THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  resort, 
where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New  England 
housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How  types  so  widely 
apart  react  on  each  other's  lives,  all  to  ultimate  good,  makes  a  story 
both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE. 


Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young  and 
oeautiful  but  _  disillusioned,  meets  3.  girl  who  has  learned  the  art  of 
living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and  joy.  The  story 
hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul  of  the  blase  woman  by 
this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

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Wl<  TTY  WENT  TO    COLLEGE,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  boen 
written.  It  is  bright,  -whimsical  and  entertaining,  lifelike,  laughable 
and  thoroughly  human. 

JUST    PATTY,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Patty  is  full  of  the  joy  of  living,  fun-loving,  given  to  ingenious 
mischief  for  its  own  sake,  with  a  disregard  for  pretty  convention  which 
is  an  unfailing  source  of  joy  to  her  fellows. 

THE  POOR  LITTLE  RTCII  GIRL,    By  Eleanor  Gates. 

With  four  full  page  illustrations. 

This  story  relates  the  experience  of  one  of  those  unfortunate  chil- 
dren whose  early  days  are  passed  in  the  companionship  of  a  governess, 
seldom  seeing  either  parent,  and  famishing  for  natural  love  and  tender- 
ness.   A  charming  play  as  dramatized  by  the  author. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK    FARM,       By   Kate   Douglas 

Wiggin. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artistic, 
unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  out  midst  a  circle  of 
austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phenominal 
dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA,    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  this  delightful  heroine  that 
carry  Rebecca  through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

REBECCA  MARY,    By  Annis  Hamilton  Donnell. 

Illustrated  by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

This  author  possesses  the  rare  gift  of  portraying  all  the  grotesque 
little  joys  and  sorrows  and  scruples  of  this  very  small  girl  with  a  pa- 
thos that  is  peculiarly  genuine  and  appealing. 

EMMY  LOU:    Her  Book  and  Heart,    By  George  Madden  Martin 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Louis  Ilinton. 

Emmy  Lou  Is  in  lovable,  because  she  is  so  absolutely  real. 

She  is  just  a  bewitchingly  innocent,  hugable  little  maid.    The  book  is 
wonderfully  human. 

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STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

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THE  HARVESTER. 


LADDIE. 


Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  the 
scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The  story  is  told 
by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  of 
a  large  family,  but  it  is  concerned  not  so 
much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love 
affairs  of  older  members  of  the  family. 
Chief  among  them  is  that  of  Laddie,  the 
older  brother  whom  Little  Sister  adores, 
and  the  Princess,  an  English  girl  who  has 
come  to  live  in  the  neighborhood  and  about 
whose  family  there  hangs  a  mystery. 
There  is  a  wedding  midway  in  the  book 
and  a  double  wedding  at  the  close. 
Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs. 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is  a  man  of  the  woods  and 
fields,  who  draws  his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in  it  but  the  splendid  figure 
of  this  man  it  would  be  notable.  But  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his 
"Medicine  Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has  come  to  him — there  begins 
a  romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 
FRECKLES,     Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  inthe 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his 
love-story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment.' 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

Illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  lovable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 
Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp. 

The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  Indiana. 
The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrificing 
love.  The  novel  is  brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of 
nature,  and  its  pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 


Grosset  &  Dunlap,      Publishers,      New  York 


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